


Thirteen Stars

by Fandoms_Are_Life37



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: 18th Century, America/England Feels (Hetalia), American History, American Revolution, British Empire, Brothers America & Canada (Hetalia), Colonialism, Colony America (Hetalia), Founding Fathers, George Washington is a Dad, Georgian Period, Heavy Angst, Historical Accuracy, Historical Hetalia, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Sexual Content, M/M, Nightmares, Original Character(s), Other Ships Not Mentioned in Tags, Period Typical Bigotry, Poor America (Hetalia), Poor England (Hetalia), Trauma, UKUS, USUK - Freeform, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:40:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 41
Words: 197,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27590834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fandoms_Are_Life37/pseuds/Fandoms_Are_Life37
Summary: The love between America and England was something they thought was unbreakable. This is, until the Revolutionary War when it all came crashing down. Forget independence. Forget freedom. Forget passion. The War of Independence was driven by heartbreak.“Beautiful… so emotional. Kudos to you.” -@AlleyMichaelis“I mean- wow. So much action. So much drama. Your descriptions and narration really make me see and feel… Big kudos.” -@KarlaMicahelis
Relationships: America/England (Hetalia)
Comments: 17
Kudos: 47





	1. The Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> Prologue: 
> 
> "Loving of enemies is another dogma of feigned morality and has besides no meaning. It is incumbent on man, as a moralist, that he does not revenge an injury; and it is equally as good in a political sense, for there is no end to retaliation; each retaliates on the other, and calls it justice: but to love in proportion to the injury, if it could be done, would be to offer a premium for a crime." -Thomas Paine
> 
> The rain was heavy, and the sky was dark as the cracks of thunder and gunshots alike rang out across the battlefield. 
> 
> England's hands trembled as he tightened his grip upon the gun. "Stop this, America. Stop it now!" 
> 
> America glared up at him with a hatred in his eyes that England had never seen before.
> 
> "No. I will fight. I will fight, and I will fight, and I will fight until I win. I will fight in the name of liberty." 
> 
> "But I need you. I need you to stay." 
> 
> "And I need my freedom!" America seethed. 
> 
> _Shoot him._ England's mind commanded. _This is war—shoot him._
> 
> One more time. He could give America one last chance to change his mind. 
> 
> With tears pouring down his cheeks and mixing with the rainwater, he gritted his teeth.  
> "Don't leave me!" 
> 
> "Give me one good fucking reason to stay!" 
> 
> "I... I love you!" 
> 
> "I don't care. You weren't there when I needed you. You hurt me, and you did it on  
> purpose,” America snapped harshly. 
> 
> England felt like he couldn't breathe. "I'm sorry." 
> 
> "Sorry isn't good enough. You never cared about me. All I was to you was your stupid  
> colony that actually believed you loved me. But that wasn't true. I was just there for you to use." 
> 
> "No, you weren't! America, you're everything to me." 
> 
> "Oh, come now. Let's stop lying to ourselves." 
> 
> _Shoot him._
> 
> "Please... can we just go home? I- I just want to go home," England choked out. 
> 
> "No." 
> 
> _Shoot him._
> 
> "Go on, England. Do it. Kill me. Prove to France that you're strong since that's all you've  
> ever cared about. Prove that traitors always die. Come on, prove the might of the British  
> empire.”
> 
> _Shoot him._
> 
> "N- No! Just surrender!" 
> 
> "You know I can't do that." 
> 
> _Shoot him._
> 
> "Don't make me do this." 
> 
> _Shoot him._
> 
> "I won't give up until my people are free." 
> 
> _SHOOT HIM!_
> 
> England’s whole body shook as he cried. Everything that he was was there in the storm,  
> the gun, the blood, and America's burning blue eyes. 
> 
> "I'm so sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

“And it is undeniably true that the greatest and most important right of a British subject is that he shall be governed by no laws but those to which he, either in person or by his representatives, hath given his consent; and this, I will venture to assert, is the great basis of British freedom; it is interwoven with the Constitution, and whenever this is lost, the Constitution must be destroyed.” -Joseph Warren

1753- London

England sighed. The morning was soft and comforting. Gentle sunlight shone through the curtains; the messy sheets were cool, and America was asleep next to him, breathing quietly. England watched his chest rise and fall for a moment before rolling out of bed to make some breakfast.

He put the kettle on first so that he could have tea before starting some eggs and America's favorite: bacon.

Faintly, he could hear people laughing outside, the clopping of horse hooves, and the creaks of carriages. It was a new day in London, and the early risers were ready to begin it.

"Are you making bacon?" America asked, stepping into the kitchen and rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

"Yes. Want some?"

"Is that even a question?"

England laughed. He wasn't a good cook, but he had mastered making bacon since his lover liked it so much. "You're up earlier than usual."

"I went to bed early."

"Ah."

"I was thinking- maybe we could play another round of chess today? If you’re up to it, that is."

"So you can lose again?"

America crossed his arms as he sat down at the kitchen table. "No! I'll win one of these days, just you wait."

England gave America a sympathetic smile. "I wish I could, but I'm leaving on a business trip."

"Again?"

"I know, I'm sorry. But the Irish twins are having a tough time recovering from the famine. They’re sick, and I'm worried about them," England explained, "They’re my brothers. I need to go."

"When will you be back?"

"I'm not sure." England served some bacon on a plate and grabbed a glass of milk, taking them to America before going to tend the now whistling kettle.

America took a bite. His boyfriend was abandoning him again, but at least he had bacon. Bacon would never leave him. "They’ll be okay."

"But they’re not right now." England poured his tea. "Please try to understand, America."

"I do. But why are you always visiting everyone else, and you rarely come to the colonies to see me?"

England sat down, looking at him quizzically. "Because you're here."

"But I have to go home sometimes, and it doesn't matter how many letters I send, you never come."

"I'm sorry, love. Do you want me to come to Massachusetts?"

"Yeah…” He mumbled.

"Then I will come as soon as possible. Promise."

America smiled a bit. "Okay."

They ate in silence, but it wasn't uncomfortable. The two had been together for over a century. England knew every freckle on America's body and America knew each of England's hairs. Breakfast conversation wasn't necessary when you knew someone that well.

England left that afternoon, leaving America by himself. He got lonely fast, one of the biggest struggles he faced due to England's frequent trips.

He spent his day playing chess against himself, responding to letters from his colonies (or, technically, England’s colonies), and staring off into space. There wasn’t much to do after he finished his duties.

He understood, though. England had so much land and so many relatives, so it was a given that he would be traveling a lot. He didn’t have room to complain.

*************

America received a letter signed by France just a few days after England’s departure. He and England hated each other, but America was his friend.

The letter requested that America visit him in Paris. Not for any specific purpose, it seemed, but just because he missed him. America smiled when he wrote back, accepting the invitation, and he boarded the first ship south that he could find. He hated being all by himself. France would be a much-needed remedy. 

The voyage wasn’t long compared to the trips they took back and forth from the colonies, and soon America was knocking on the elaborate door to France’s mansion.

It swung open, and a dark-skinned girl in a white dress opened it timidly.

“Hi,” America grinned. “I’m America!”

She kept her eyes averted. “My name is Martinique."

"Nice to meet you, Martinique. Is France here?" 

She nodded. "France is upstairs. I’ll show you the way.”

Martinique opened the door a little wider to let him cross the threshold into the foyer. It was massive; America’s footsteps echoed when the sound bounced off the French marble walls. 

He followed her through fancy corridors decorated with massive paintings and around past furniture that probably cost more than his entire house. 

America chuckled. This was exactly the kind of place France would live.

Martinique stopped and pointed at a nearby parlor entrance. Two doors covered in small, rectangular windows were sitting partially open. “He’s in there.”

“Thanks!” America smiled. He went in, shutting the doors behind him, and found France lounging on a golden chaise, casually sipping a glass of white wine. The room was just as lavish as the rest of the manor, with white walls and swirling golden trim dancing around the windows.

France got up, setting down his wine glass on the end table with a clink. _“Mon ami!_ It’s good to see you!”

America hugged him, patting his back. “Good to see you, too.”

“Your accent!”

“Huh?”

“Your accent- it’s different, much less British. I like it. Come, sit. Would you like a glass of wine? Champagne? Chardonnay?”

America sat down, still distracted by what France said about his voice. Was it really that different? “Uh, no, I’m okay.”

“How have you been?” France asked.

“Well, I suppose.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You suppose?”

“England is constantly on his trips. It’s like I never see him anymore. It’s putting a strain on our relationship. But you know, it is what it is,” He said, laughing nervously to try to lighten the mood and lessen the impact of what he just admitted. 

France sighed, disregarding the last of what America said. “Listen, you know England and I hate each other, but this isn’t biased advice. He needs to treat you better. I mean, five years ago, I know you were angry with him for trading Louisburg to me without consulting you. Remember? He shouldn’t just take your land like that.”

“To be fair, it’s technically his land.”

“On paper, yes. But not really. I also know that he wants to go to war with me over the Ohio River Valley to prove that he is the dominant power on your continent.”

America gulped, looking like a deer in headlights. “What? That’s crazy! He, I, uh-”

“You don’t need to cover for him. But if he starts a war, you know what that would mean, don’t you?”

“You guys would be fighting, and that’s dangerous.”

“Well, yes, but it won’t be a war fought by British troops alone. The Natives would likely be involved, too. But what I’m talking about is you.”

“What about me?”

France rolled his eyes. America truly was dense. “You’re his colony, the closest and strongest on the continent. Your people would be fighting mine. You and I would be enemies.”

America’s eyes widened. He was right. Desperately, America told him, “I’ve delayed him. He wanted to go to war earlier, but I begged him not to. I didn’t want either of you to be hurt.”

“America, don’t you see? He’ll force you to do it if he needs to.”

“No, he won’t. He doesn’t force me to do anything.”

“Except give up your land.”

“Our land.”

“Either way, he’s not treating you well. Your situation is special since you two are together, so he shouldn’t be treating you exactly like he does his other colonies. You’re basically your own country, anyway. He barely interferes, and you mostly govern yourself. You’re self-sufficient, it’s not like you’d die without him.”

America didn’t say anything. The points that France made were valid, but he didn’t like thinking about all the problems in his relationship with England. He tended to focus on the positive things like snuggling in bed, kisses, and the way England would take care of him. That was what England was to him- not a tyrant.

“The pros still outweigh the cons. And I love him. I’ll bring it up so we can talk it out. We’ll work through it.”

France shrugged. "Suit yourself. I'm just saying, _Amérique,_ you deserve better." 

"How have you been?" America asked, changing the subject. 

"Good. Expansions overseas have been going well, aside from that little issue with the Ohio River Valley." 

"How are your colonies?" 

He smiled. "Very good. They're all amazing. I don't know what I'd do without them." 

"I met Martinique on the way in. She seems nice." 

"Oh, yes, she’s great. How’s your brother, Canada?”

“Good. Things have been quiet for him. Why?”

“Honestly, he’s become very dear to me, too. Don't tell the others, but he's my favorite colony.” 

America smiled teasingly. "Aww, France, you love him." 

"Of course I do. How could I not?" 

"That's adorable. I can see you being good for him and taking care of him well." America remarked. 

_"Merci._ I certainly try to. It can be challenging, though. It seems like everyone wants to take his land." 

America sighed. "I'm sorry. That sounds exhausting." 

He shrugged. _"C'est la vie._ It's not too hard to keep the British and Spanish away from the major territories. It's just some of the edges." 

"Well, that's good." 

"Oh, where are my manners? How are the colonies?" 

"Virginia is unruly, but what's new? It feels like the southern colonies are always mad about something." 

France laughed. "Sounds like them. At least the middle and New England ones are easy to manage." 

"Easy may be a stretch, but yes. By the way, thanks for inviting me, France." 

"Of course! I know you get lonely whenever England leaves you. Keeping you company is my pleasure. Tomorrow we’ll see some sights, hmm?

“That sounds perfect.”

*************

England was gone for four weeks, and America was away for three, returning before his colonizer came home. When England finally returned, it was like a weight had been lifted from America’s shoulders. He dragged him to the couch, and they ended up just being together and whispering sweet nothings until the sun dipped low in the sky.

“I was thinking of sailing home,” America said.

“Now?”

“When you leave for your next trip. I haven’t been there in a while.”

He hid his disappointment well. “You’re right. You haven’t. That’s probably good.”

“Don’t forget, you owe me a visit.”

“Of course, darling.”

America looked up at him from his relaxed position on the couch- laying across England with his head on the armrest while England stroked his hair. “I wish you traveled less. I get so lonely here all by myself. It’s too quiet.”

England sighed. “I know. I’m sorry, I genuinely am. If I had it my way, I’d happily spend every day with you. You mean everything to me.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

“You know, I visited France while you were away,” America said nonchalantly, let his eyes fall shut.

England stiffened but didn’t stop playing with America’s hair. “France?”

“Yeah. I stayed at his house for three weeks. It’s beautiful there. The architecture is amazing, and the cafes are so cute. We went to this one that had a bunch of purple flowers for tea and pastries. Oh, and the bridges are gorgeous. And Notre Dame? Incredible.”

“I’m glad you had fun.”

America opened his eyes, catching the lack of enthusiasm in England's tone. “Oh no, you’re angry, aren’t you?”

“I’m not angry. I know you two are friends. But, dearest, he’s not a good person. His people hate him.”

“No, they don’t. The French love their country; they just don’t like the monarchy.” America shut his eyes again, relaxing into England. “I don’t blame them. People don’t like being pushed around, especially by the government that is supposed to take care of them.”

England raised a brow. “Hmm.”

“Their king is the worst. And they’re so poor. If the monarchy doesn’t get it together, there’s going to be an uprising. I can feel it.”

“This sounds like you’re trying to indirectly say that something’s wrong between us.”

America opened his eyes again, shaking his head. “No, no. King George fine. I mean, there have been better kings, but he’s fine. Although I did want to talk to you about France and us.”

“Go on.”

“Well… I know you’re angry with him, that you don’t like each other, and that war is likely. But I really, _really_ don’t want you two to fight.”

“America, you don’t need to worry about it. If we did go to war, we wouldn’t lose. We'd be fine.”

“But France might not be, and we both know that if you fight over the Ohio River Valley, I’m going to be roped into it.”

England nodded thoughtfully. “I promise you that as long as there isn’t another incident, I won’t declare war.”

America’s shoulders relaxed, which England could feel against his legs. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to America’s forehead. “No matter what, I’m here for you. Nothing bad is going to happen to you. Ever.”

*************

When England left for another business trip (something about a trade agreement- America didn’t listen very carefully), America boarded a ship to the colonies. It was a large ship by most standards, meaning that there were lots of people, but he was okay with that.

The voyage was going to last somewhere between 30 and 40 days, according to the captain. To say it was boring was a vast understatement.

America spent hours sitting on the edge of the ship, legs dangling over the side, and breathing in the salty air. The way the sea glittered was mesmerizing. It reminded him of the days he spent beside the early settlers and England. Back then, things were so simple. All that mattered were his people trying to maintain a new civilization. 

He remembered that first winter when many of his people died, before then. They had been so sick until he begged his mother for the Natives to help them, showing them how to grow food on the land. Back then, he'd been very young.

Most of the people on the ship were Americans going back home like he was. He made a point to meet all of them, content to listen to them talk about their home. They seemed to love it there, and the way their eyes lit up when they spoke of their homes was addictive to him. It was good to know his people were happy.

The boat docked in Marblehead, Massachusetts. It was a fishing town that America didn’t like much. People there tended to be unwelcoming. Thankfully, he only had to stay two nights before he could hire a carriage driver to take him back home to Boston.

He smiled as he unlocked the door to the brick house, stepping inside and inhaling. Home sweet home.

He took his bags upstairs to his bedroom to unpack, putting things in drawers and the closet. Warm sunshine came in through the window, a stark contrast to the air. It was late January, so America struck a fire in each fireplace to keep the house warm and lit the lanterns when the sun started to set.

It was good to be home; it’d been too long.

America had work to do, but mostly, things were quiet in the colonies. He caught up with his friends, spent time in the city, and watched people smile with rosy cheeks in the winter air.

All was well until England sent a letter telling America that there had been some complications. As he put it, the French had built forts on disputed land, meaning that they were preparing for war. With an apology, England told him that there would soon be conflict.

He wrote back immediately, pressing for a diplomatic solution, but one was never reached. Soon, colonists were preparing for war. Colonel George Washington led a Virginian militia force to try to demand that the French remove their forts, but it ended in a fight. England declared war.

American colonists became soldiers to fight the French, and soon the Natives were involved on both sides, as well. America didn’t enjoy fighting, but he did anyway, spending more time on the battlefield than he would have liked. Of course, England had told him not to get himself in the skirmish, but America could never leave his people.

He was frustrated with England for a while due to a disagreement over a proposed colonial alliance with some of the Natives that he wouldn’t approve. It made life more difficult, and he couldn’t understand why England rejected it.

Letters between America and France became melancholy, each sorry that it had come to this. France was angry that he was now fighting America and swore that he would win.

The worst part was fighting his northern neighbors, though. Canada, America’s brother, was a French territory, and he was overcome with extreme guilt every time he killed a Canadian soldier, even more so than the French ones. He only saw his brother once, though, which was good. Facing him in battle was pure torture. Canada was all the family he had left.

Early in the war, France had the upper hand. The English kept losing battles, mostly because many Native tribes sided with the French. They liked the Canadians more than they liked the Americans, so it wasn’t hard for them to pick a side against the British and their colonists. America could vividly remember a conversation they had over lunch one day about France’s armies’ strength and their chances of success. 

“You know, _Amérique,_ it’s looking like I will win. And once I do, I’ll be able to take compensation from _Angleterre._ I was wondering if you’d be interested in becoming a French colony.” He said it casually- as if what he asked wasn’t treason for America and a life-changing decision. 

America had frozen in the middle of taking a bite. “Um… sorry, what?” 

“I want to know if you’d like to leave England’s empire to become part of mine when I win. If so, I’d be happy to reunite you with your brother. Poor Canada misses you so much. He’d be exceedingly happy. And I wouldn’t treat you like you’re worth less than me like England does. We’re friends, after all. If you don’t want to… Well, we’ll see how the negotiations go. I doubt England would give you up without a fight, anyway.” 

Unable to even put together a proper response, America just stared at him, stuttering, “I… um… I don’t speak French.” 

That made France laugh. “Oh, America.” 

He wasn’t sure what was so funny, but that was the first time he had to think about the consequences of England losing the war. He didn’t want to be French, and he most certainly didn’t want to lose England, annoying king or no annoying king. 

Later, America had written England a letter mentioning the strange interaction, among other things. After that, the war abruptly changed. France rapidly lost forts and land to the North. Once the British seized Quebec, it was all downhill for him.

England wrote to America, reassuring him that conflict in North America would end, and it did. Instead, they brought the fighting to Europe and India. During that time, each letter that America sent and received was heavy-hearted. He hadn’t seen England since he left London. It had been too chaotic for England to find the time to make the trip.

He was desperately lonely, but France made time to sail over and spend a month with him. Things between them had gotten much better since their fighting ended, and the days seemed brighter.

France was a fantastic cook, and he loved doing it, much to America’s delight. Every meal seemed better than the last. The only thing he couldn’t make better was bacon. England’s bacon would always be the best.

One day, America came down the stairs to see France crying at the kitchen table, clutching a letter in his fist.

“France? What’s wrong?”

He looked up through watery eyes, brushing tears aside. “Nothing, nothing, _mon ami.”_

“No, seriously. What’s wrong?”

“He won. England won.”

Oh. America wasn’t sure how to feel. He was delighted that England was alright and came out on top, but crushed to see how it affected his friend. “Can I get you anything? A glass of water?”

France didn’t seem to hear him. “He’s taking him away from me. He’s- He’s taking him…”

“Who?”

France looked up through tears. “Canada! He’s taking Canada!”

Oh shit.

Being in the same empire with his brother would be nice. They didn’t get to spend time together very often. Since he left his mother, America had only seen Canada… what, twice? Three times? To be together again would be a dream come true. But France was in tatters. 

“They already came for him. He’s in London now. He was… He meant so much to me.”

America sat down across the table from him. “I can write to England, ask if he would take another territory instead.”

“I already offered everything else I had. And even if I hadn’t, it wouldn’t matter. He knows how much Canada means to me and how much he benefits my country. I’m sure he’s very pleased with himself for taking him.” 

There was a bitterness in his voice that America had never heard before. England and France had always been enemies, but now… Now things were personal, and the hardened look in France’s eyes was unnerving.

*************

Having Canada as part of the British empire was excellent not only for England but for him. He couldn’t wait to see his brother again. But France needed time and space, so he sailed home the very next day.

America didn’t like being alone again, waking up to silence and without the smell of France cooking breakfast. England had promised to come soon, but America didn’t feel much better, even when the weather was improving. There were conflicts at Fort Detroit that kept stressing him out, despite knowing that the Native aggression would quickly be over. It seemed like England was always at war.

That was squashed within months, though, and England finally was on his way to the colonies. The days that he was sailing, America was giddy and smiled more than he ever had in the past few years. 

The time they spent away from one another (ten years) wasn’t very significant to them, considering that they were nations that would live- and already had lived- for centuries. But to America, it was like an eon.

He cleaned the whole house and bought plenty more tea since he knew it was basically the only thing England ever drank. His ship docked in Boston Harbor, where America was already at the docks, beaming when he saw England coming down the gangplank.

Immediately, he dashed to him and hugged him. “I missed you so much!”

“Whoa, careful, you’re going to knock me over.”

He flushed. “Sorry. Here, let me help you with your things.”

America’s house was close to the harbor, only a few blocks away. He unlocked the door and let England in first before shutting it.

England breathed in deeply. “Ah, I missed this place. I really should visit more.”

“Yes, you should.” America finally dragged him into a passionate kiss now that they were behind closed doors. He pulled back, breathless. “I love you so much.”

“I love you, too.”

They went back to kissing, leaning into each other. America unbuttoned England’s coat, tossing it to the floor and backing him up to the couch so that they fell onto it. England’s lips slid down America’s jaw and onto his neck.

America sighed in contentment. “It’s been too long since we were together.”

England hummed but didn’t answer, still nipping at America’s throat to leave small marks. His hands ran down his sides and to his chest, undoing each clasp on his shirt.

 _“This_ is the first thing we’re doing now that we’re reunited?” America chuckled, though he didn’t actually mind. After all, he hadn’t seen his lover in a decade.

England pulled back, but America grabbed his shirt to keep him from getting off. “No, don’t stop.”

England smirked before diving back into the soft, tanned skin of America’s neck. He gasped, letting his eyes flutter shut.

“You’re so sensitive,” England mumbled against his skin.

“Sh- Shut up.”

He laughed, kissing him on the lips again.

*************

A few days later, America found England outside, sitting on the stoop and watching the people pass.

“What are you thinking about?” He asked, sitting down beside him as a carriage clattered down the street. 

“Just that the war with the Natives is over, but I’m worried there will be another. Every time I fight with them, you become more unsafe. Besides, it’s a waste of resources.”

“You worry too much.”

“I know. But I’ve been thinking about some way to make peace with them. What if we quit expanding West?”

America furrowed his brow. “What?”

“Well, they don’t like that we’re invading their land. That’s understandable. They were here first. So why don’t we just leave them alone?”

“But the colonies are so overcrowded. We need to expand.”

“That’s silly. We both know all the colonists can fit here.”

“Can we not talk about politics and war?” He said, feeling deflated.

“You’re right. We’re finally together again. Our work can wait. Do you want to go on a walk?”

“I’d love that.”

America pulled him up from the ground and walked beside him through the cobbled streets. The September air smelled fresh, and the leaves on the trees were all shades of the sunset.

“If you could change one thing here, what would it be?” England asked. 

He thought for a moment. “I don’t know. Slavery, probably, but that’s impossible at this point. The Southern colonies would be furious, and I would have no idea what we’d do with all the freed slaves after they weren’t slaves anymore. Maybe Parliamentary representation or fewer taxes. I know you have to pay for the French and Indian War, though, so I get it.”

“I’ve been thinking. I normally travel a lot, but I’d like to do less of it. I’m going to be more stingy when it comes to trips so that I can spend more time here with you. I don’t like waking up without you beside me.”

“Really?”

“Really. It’ll be hard, but you’re worth it.”

America grinned. “That’s great! I’m going to eat so much bacon…”

England laughed. “I’ll make you as much as you want.”

“Thank you.”

“Well, of course. You’re my world. You’re more important than anything else.”

“I’m your favorite colony. I can tell,” America said with a decisive nod. “The Virgin Islands thinks it’s her, but she’s wrong.”

“What gave it away?”

“Probably the fact that we’re a couple. That was a pretty big sign.” He suddenly gasped. “Oh! You have to try these muffins!”

America grabbed his wrist and dragged him to a bakery with its doors open. Inside, it smelled like fresh bread. Various loaves and pastries were on trays, tilted to put them on display. It wasn’t much, but America was convinced that the owners made the best muffins in all of the thirteen colonies.

The baker behind the counter had flour smudged on his forehead. He smiled when they came in. “Alfred! How are you?”

“Great, thanks, Mr. Jenkins!”

“The usual?”

“You know me.”

The baker chuckled, taking muffins out of a crate and wrapping them in cloth. “Yes, I do. But I don’t know you.” He said, looking at England.

He smiled. “Arthur Kirkland. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“You, too. Here. Don’t let him eat them too fast, or he’ll get sick. Again.”

England laughed. “I won’t. Thank you.”

America handed over a couple of sterling coins. “Tell your wife and kids I say hello.”

“Will do. Have a good day!”

“You too!”

The couple waved as they stepped out of the warm bakery. America passed a muffin to England. “They’re amazing.”

England bit into it, eyes widening. “That is the best bloody muffin I’ve ever eaten!”

“I know!”

They spent the rest of their stroll through the streets, discussing what had happened during their time apart. Some of it was happy, some of it was sad, but in the end, they were together. What else mattered?

*************

“Britain!”

He was sitting at the kitchen table when he looked up from a book. America was storming down the stairs with a paper in his hand, startling Pilgrim, his calico cat that was curled up on the couch.

Shit. America only called him Britain when he was serious. “What’s wrong?”

“This! This is what’s wrong!” America slammed the paper on the table.

A paper that had been rapidly distributed throughout the colonies stared back up at them, one detailing a new proclamation. 

England winced. “America, the conflicts with the Natives needed to end.”

“It doesn’t have to be like this, though! Banning us from expanding? That was our right, and you snatched it away! You knew I wanted to move west!”

“I’m tired of fighting the Natives, and I know you don’t like fighting them, either. They’re scared of losing their land. I would have thought you’d be happy with this. Or have you forgotten that when your people were suffering, they took care of them? Without them, your first citizens would have all died.”

America laughed bitterly. “Oh, come on, we both know that’s bullshit. You’re penning me in so that I’m easier to regulate.”

There was truth in that. “This isn’t personal, love. You know I trust you and love you. But you don’t control the actions of your people.”

There was also truth in that. “You have to talk to me first.”

“I tried to!”

“Yeah, once! All you had to do was say, ‘Hey, America, we need to talk. It’s important,’ and I would have been happy to listen.”

“You do know that you’re _my_ colony, right? I don’t _have_ to do anything.” England regretted the words the moment they came out of his mouth.

America’s expression hardened. “You did _not_ just say that.”

“I’m sorry, I-”

“Whatever. You’re right. You’re in charge of me.” The edge in his voice made it clear that England was most certainly _not_ right, _nor_ was he in charge of him.

England ran a hand through his hair stressfully. “I shouldn’t have said that; I’m sorry. You can make your own decisions, and you’re your own person. I should have discussed it with you first.” 

America shrugged, eyes icy. He started walking towards the door, saying over his shoulder. “No, don’t worry about it, it’s fine.”

He was out the door before England could stop him. The slam made England flinch as if he’d just been punched. Quickly, he ran to the door and stepped outside, looking around for America, but he was nowhere to be seen.

“Dammit,” England muttered under his breath. There was no way he would find him in all of Boston, especially since he didn’t know the city well.

Feeling like he had weights strapped to his chest, he went back inside, sitting down at the table and resting his chin on his palm. America would come back. There was a chance that he may stay with a friend overnight, but England doubted it.

So he sat there, watching the door and waiting, waiting, waiting.


	2. Sugar

“Patriotism is as much a virtue as justice, and is as necessary for the support of societies as natural affection is for the support of families.” -Benjamin Rush 

America came back when it started to get dark. 

England immediately got up and went to him, eyes cast down. “America, I’m so sorry. I should never have said that. You know I love you, and you know I don’t think of you as inferior in any way. It’s still not an excuse, though. I-” 

“It’s okay.” 

He looked up. “It is?” 

“I know you didn’t mean it. I overreacted.” 

“No, you didn’t. You had every right to be angry. I might have done the same thing if the roles were reversed. I’m sorry.” 

“It’s alright. Really,” America with a small smile, kissing England gently. “I’m tired. Ready for bed?” 

England nodded. The tension in his shoulders eased, and he let America lead him up the stairs. They changed into pajamas and rolled into bed, legs tangled, and arms around each other.

*************

Rain trailed down the windowpane beside the kitchen table where America and England sat quietly, each enveloped in their individual work. Managing countries was stressful at best, but they tended to do their jobs at the same time so that it wasn’t as bad, especially since England made tea and bacon for them to share.

The air was colder than usual now that winter was approaching, so the fireplaces and woodstoves were all lit to keep them warm. England was wearing one of America’s light coats, a navy blue one with large brown buttons. His hair was ruffled, and he yawned as he worked. 

Across from him, America was still in his sleeping shirt, scribbling away. His eyes were bright despite the early hour. Sometimes England  
envied him for being such a morning person. 

America opened up an envelope and pulled out a crisp piece of paper- more news. But this news was relevant to him. 

“Did you establish new colonies?” America asked England.

England didn’t look up. “Yes, four of them.” 

“Oh. Cool.” 

England poured some more tea from the pot into his cup, sipping the bitter beverage. “What do you want to do today?” 

“I’m not sure. I have a lot of letters to respond to.” 

“From who?” England asked, furrowing his brow. 

“France, mostly. He’s upset about you taking Canada, and he needs to vent about it to someone.”

“And so he writes to you?” England asked incredulously. 

America nodded, writing something down and answering distractedly, “Apparently, Senegal isn’t a good listener, and Martinique is busy. ” 

“Ah. What does he say?” 

“Well, he’s angry,” America answered, “Really angry. Your rivalry is personal to him now. You need to be careful, England. I’m worried  
about you.” 

England took his hand. “It’s alright, America. I’ll be just fine. When it comes down to it, my empire is the largest and most powerful.  
France won’t be able to hurt either of us.” 

America sighed. “You keep forgetting that France and I are friends. I don’t want him hurt, either.” 

“I know, love. I know.” 

There was a long silence while England ran his thumb in small circles over the back of America’s hand while the latter stared out the  
the window at the storm. 

“When you took Canada… Why did you do it? Why didn’t you take one of the other territories he offered you? I know he offered you pretty  
much all of his other colonies.” 

England took his hand back. “Because Canada was the largest, and he had the most resources, including many more places to establish ports. You keep saying that Boston is too crowded. With those ports, trade and resource distribution will be much faster and more efficient. It’s just politics, America. And besides, he’s your brother. I thought it would be nice for you two to be part of the same empire again.” 

“Oh. Okay.” He paused. “I wonder when the storm will pass. I’d hoped to go to the bookstore today, but it looks like we’re going to be  
inside all day.” 

“Think you can handle a whole day inside?” England teased, knowing how soon America got cabin fever. 

“I’ll be fine. But now I’m bored.”

“Did you finish reviewing your economic reports?” 

He nodded. “Yeah, even though they’re mind-numbing. Are you done yet?” 

“I have millions of subjects, America.” 

“So, no?” 

“No. If you want to help, you can draft a letter to Mr Wilkes telling him that if he gets into one more duel, then I swear to god I’m  
going to kick him out of Parliament if I have to drag him out by his ear.” 

America laughed. “In more diplomatic terms, or should I be that blunt?” 

England slid him a piece of paper and his seal so that America could begin writing. “Say that he is the ugliest man in all of the British  
Empire.” 

“Got it. So, I’m assuming there are Parliamentary troubles?” 

“Are there ever. It seems like the only thing anyone is talking about is the debt from the war. It’s ridiculously high, and we need to get the  
money for it as soon as possible, we’re just not sure how.” 

“That sounds stressful. You should take a break.” 

He chuckled mirthlessly. “Funny.” 

“No, really. You work yourself to death. Come on, Iggy, take a break, spend some time with me.” 

England rested his chin on his palm with a smirk. “What did you have in mind?”

“Well, I thought we could bake a cake.” 

“A cake?” 

“Yeah! I have all the stuff we need, and it could be really fun. Then we can eat it, which is the best part.” 

England smiled at his giddiness. “Alright, you’ve convinced me.” 

“Yes!” America leaped up from the table, dashing to the pantry to start removing ingredients. 

As he pulled them out, England gathered up their things, carrying them into the living room so they wouldn’t get dirty. He set them on the end table, smiling at a small painting of the two of them propped up in a brass frame. Italy had made it; he loved art, and they almost had too many portraits from him. England's favorite, however, was back in London, handing above his fireplace. In it, the couple was depicted walking together, hands interlocked, and smiling. It wasn’t formal, and it didn’t show anything monumental. The simplicity of it was what made it best. 

England went back to the kitchen, sifting dry ingredients while America spread the butter around a pan with childlike enthusiasm. It made England smile to himself. There was nothing he loved more than seeing America when he was excited. His eyes would light up and sparkle, a winning smile would grow across his face, and when he spoke, you couldn’t help but be happy, too. 

“We need to beat the butter with the sugar,” England announced, reading from the cookbook on the counter. “And then the rest of the wet ingredients.” 

America wiped his hands on a towel to get the butter off and measured out how much they needed. “I noticed you had a new book on your nightstand. Did you finish the last one?” 

England grinned. “Yeah, I did.” 

“What were you reading?” 

“A collection of Greek myths. Careful! You’re splashing the milk.”

America slowed his stirring. “Which one is your favorite?” 

England hummed in consideration. “I like the stories about Apollo. They tend to be epic, sometimes tragic, too. Like the story of his  
relationship with Roman emperor Commodus.” 

“I don’t know that one.” 

“It’s not told as often as many of the others. In the story, Apollo was Commodus’s lover, but Commodus became corrupt. His rule was violent and evil, so there were multiple assassination attempts on him, even though he didn’t know it. Finally, Apollo realized that it couldn’t go on like this. So he disguised himself as someone else and drowned Commodus when he was in the bath.” 

America’s face twisted in confusion and alarm. “That’s a terrible story!” 

“Yes, but there’s so much emotion in it. Their relationship was so complicated and deep, but when it came down to it, Commodus became a tyrant, and Apollo was the only one who could stop him. So he killed him, even though it hurt him to do it. Metaphorically.” 

America’s stirring slowed to a stop. “He was a hero.” 

“Yeah.” England took the bowl and poured their batter into the pan before sliding it onto the metal rack above their fire to cook. 

“Huh. Well, what are you reading now?” 

“I’m starting some more Shakespeare.” 

“But you’ve read all of his work, like, twenty times.” 

England shrugged, pouring ingredients for frosting into a bowl. “It’s good. What have you read a lot of times?” 

“I don’t know. I can’t imagine re-reading anything. You already know what’s going to happen. It’s not interesting anymore.” 

England laughed. “I should have guessed.” 

America pouted. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“Nothing, darling,” England smiled, dipping his finger in the frosting and tapping America’s nose. 

“Hey!” America protested but tried to lick it off his nose. “I can’t reach.” 

England dabbed a rag on his nose to wipe the frosting away. “You’re adorable.” 

“No, I’m not! I’m awesome and sexy.” 

“That, too.” 

America hopped up onto the counter beside England so that he could face him. He just watched England mix the ingredients for a second  
before wondering aloud, “If colors had a taste, what would they taste like?” 

England chuckled. “That is the most in-character question you’ve ever asked.” 

“No, seriously. I think purple would be sweet. But not sugar sweet, more… rich.” 

“Maybe.” 

“What would yellow taste like? England, what would yellow taste like?” 

England shrugged. “I don’t know. Lemons?” 

“I think it would be light, you know? Like eating a cloud.” 

“And I suppose black would taste bad.” 

“Of course. I can’t think of a single black food that’s good. Food is only black when it’s burned, and burned food is bad food.” 

England pushed the finished frosting aside and stepped in front of America, hands resting on either side of his knees and looking up at him. “What about dark chocolate?” 

“That’s brown. Just dark brown.” 

“What about blackberries? You love blackberries.” England suggested. 

“Oh, that’s right.” 

“And black tea. You like that.” 

He hummed uncertainty. “Yeah, but only if it has a lot of sugar. I think herbal teas and honey are better. Or some of those spicy ones  
from India.” 

“How about black beans?” 

“I don’t eat beans very often.” 

“Black cherries. Black olives. Black rice.” 

America huffed. “Okay, okay, I get it. Then what do you think black would taste like?” 

“I don’t know, America, it’s a color.”

“Just guess.” 

England sighed. “Alright, I’ll bite. Maybe it would be bitter. Yeah, bitter seems right.”

America’s eyes seemed unfocused like he was daydreaming. His gaze was steadily fixed on the fireplace. “Do fish have necks?” 

“Did you eat some of the frosting?” 

America grinned sheepishly. “Yes.” 

“I can tell. You’re full of sugar, aren’t you?” 

“Yeah. Hey, Iggy, what if we didn’t fight wars anymore? What if instead of war, we resolved conflicts by dance battles?”

“Then Prussia would be in charge of the world, and no one wants to see that. Come on.” He helped America get down off the counter and  
dragged him to the sofa.

America lay down, his head in England’s lap. “Isn’t it weird that sometimes water tastes good, and other times it tastes bland?” 

“Sure.” England leaned down to stroke Pilgrim’s back. She purred in satisfaction and hopped up on the couch, curling up on top of America’s stomach. 

“Why do people give flowers to one another as a romantic sign? They just killed the flowers and are like, ‘Here, have some dead things. I  
love you!’”

“I don’t know, America,” he answered absentmindedly. 

“Why do people do things that they know hurt them and the people around them?” 

England’s attention had fully returned. “Maybe they think they don’t have a choice. Or maybe they just don’t care.” 

“Hmm. Can you tell me a secret?” 

“That was random. Erm, I don’t know. You already know pretty much everything about me.” 

“What are you afraid of?” 

England was very quiet before saying, “Losing you.” 

America was puzzled. “Why would you lose me?” 

“Well, I defeated France, but the idea of him invading the colonies used to keep me up at night. If another country took you, I would never  
have forgiven myself.” 

“Is that why you hate him so much?” 

“No, our rivalry goes back to the Hundred Years War.”

America sat up so that he could hug England, much to Pilgrim’s annoyance. “You won’t lose me. Ever.” 

England smiled, hugging him back. “I know.”

*************

America picked up a novel from one of the tables brimming with books, nearly spilling over the sides in teetering stacks. He turned it over, trailing his fingers over the leather cover and the spine. His eyes ran over the first page, reading the summary.

He set it back down and wandered over to a shelf of the bookstore he was in, pulling one off and opening it before scanning the words. 

“Don Quixote,” said a voice behind him. 

With a slight jump, he turned to look at someone. She was a pretty girl with medium-length, wavy black hair that fell around her bronze face and flickering green eyes, which shimmered with amusement. She wore a dress with a grey bodice and brown skirt that swished when she  
walked over to him. 

“That’s a good one. I’d recommend it.” 

He furrowed his brow. “I’m sorry, have we met?” 

She laughed. “No. My bad. I’m Halona; my uncle owns the bookshop. And you are?” 

“Alfred F. Jones, nice to meet you. I haven’t seen you around town before.” 

She nodded, running her fingers over the cracked spines of some of the books. “Yes. My father died before I was born, so I lived with my mother for a long time, but she has fallen ill, and I was sent to live with my uncle on my father’s side for now. My mother is furious about it- she hates my father. It’s a long story. Either way, I’m here now.” 

Well, she was blunt. 

“Oh. I’m sorry. I get it, my mother… well, I don’t know where she is. I was born here, signifying the end of an era, you could say. Then I met someone else. His name is En- Arthur. We live together now.” 

“Is he your friend or colleague?” 

“Friend, I guess. We used to have a brother-like relationship, but now it’s, uh... different.” 

There was a glimmer in her eyes, letting him know she understood what he was saying. For a moment, he was scared of her reaction, but then she said, “I see. I have a friend like that.” 

Relief rippled through him. “Ah. So, Don Quixote, what’s it about?” 

“A man who is inspired by knights and tries to become one of them. He goes on lots of exciting adventures. It’s a good read.” 

According to England, real knights weren’t as chivalrous as books made them out to be, but America had always found their stories fascinating. He nodded firmly. “You’ve convinced me.” 

“You won’t regret it. Here, I can check you out.” Halona went over to the desk and pulled out a ledger, dipping her quill in ink and scribbling down the title. “Sixpence, please.” 

America fished the coins out of his pocket and placed them on the counter. Halona slid them into her palm and stored them away before wrapping the book in parchment. “I hope you like the book. Come back and visit sometime, yeah?” 

“Yeah.” 

“And maybe you can bring this Arthur fellow, too.” 

America grinned. “That’d be great. Thanks, Halona.” 

“Anytime.” 

He waved while stepping out of the shop before tearing open the wrappings on his new book. Eagerly, he opened it up and started reading the first page while walking to the post office. A carriage barely missed him, but he didn’t even notice due to being enraptured by the heroic  
tale. 

America shut the book and jogged up the steps of the post office. He pulled open the heavy door and stepped into the quiet, echoey building. Mailboxes lined the walls, and the assistants at the desk were each talking to a customer. Patiently, he waited his turn before stepping  
up. 

“Hello. Alfred F. Jones, please.” 

The man behind the desk nodded and opened a drawer, flicking through the keys until he pulled out a brass one with America’s human name written on a tag tied around it. He strutted over to the boxes, skimming them until he found the box with America’s human name printed on it, and unlocked it. It took him a moment to collect all the mail, then he relocked it and returned to the desk, handing over the envelopes and papers. 

“Here you go, Mr. Jones.” 

“Thanks. Oh, and Arthur Kirkland, too.” 

He raised a brow. “And do you have permission from Mr. Kirkland to access his mailbox?” 

“We live together.” 

He shrugged. “Alright.” The man went through the keys again, unlocked England’s box, pulled out a pile of mail, and poured it into a sack,  
handing it to America. “Here you go. Perhaps that will make the load easier to carry.” 

America dumped his mail in, too. “You bet.” 

“Have a good day, sir.” 

“You, too,” He replied, handing the man a couple of shillings before gathering up his mail and leaving while he returned the keys to their  
spots in his drawer, slipping them in with the other keys arranged in alphabetical order. 

America smiled at some girls playing hopscotch on the sidewalk before walking up to his front steps and unlocking the door. 

“England?” 

England looked up from a seated position on the couch, bent over a sketch he was working on. “Hmm?” 

“I’m back.” 

“What book did you get?” 

“Don Quixote.” 

England nodded with a smile. “Yes, that does seem like something you’d like. What’s in the sack?” 

“Our post. You have more than usual,” America answered, kicking off his shoes and sliding off his coat before going to sit beside England,  
tossing the sack to the floor by their feet. “What are you drawing?” 

He flushed. “Oh, well, it’s not very good, but it’s supposed to be you and me.” 

The pencil strokes on the sheet made out the image of the couple standing in the open doorway of their house, arms around one another, and foreheads pressed together. It was a position they could never take in such a public place, but it was nice to look at it and imagine that society wouldn’t judge them so harshly. England missed the seventeenth century back when he first met the ambitious America, and their relationship didn’t raise any eyebrows. After all, who would have told a recently retired, feared pirate captain he couldn’t court someone from the New World? Not anyone that didn’t want to die, that was for sure. 

“I like it,” America remarked, planting a quick kiss on England’s cheek. He opened the sack and pulled out an envelope, glancing over the front. It was addressed to him, so he grabbed the letter opener and cut through it, producing a page with more writing on it than he wanted to read. 

America reclined on the couch, lying across England with his head on a pillow leaning against the cabriole sofa’s armrest. 

England moved his arms out of the way and tossed the notepad and pencil onto the end table. “Who is it from?” 

“Canada,” he answered, reading through Matthew’s scraggly handwriting. 

“Oh?” 

“Yeah, we’ve started talking more now that we’re both parts of the same empire.” 

He chuckled. “I’ve never met a country so… nice.” 

“Right? We’ve been thinking about meeting up. He says he’d like to come down to the colonies and stay with me for a while.” 

“That’d be nice. Though I’m not sure he likes me very much.” 

“He doesn’t. But he also doesn’t know you very well. Have you ever even met in person?” 

England shook his head. “He was in London for a while, but I was away.”

“He’d like you once he met you. Oh, speaking of meeting people, I met a girl at the bookshop today. Her name is Halona; she’s great. She’s the one that recommended Don Quixote to me. She said she’d like to meet you.” 

England raised a brow. “You talked about me?” 

“Briefly. I think we should have her over for dinner or something. She seems like a very nice person.” 

He squirmed. “I don’t know about that, America.” 

“Don’t worry, she’s like us.” 

“How in the world did you stumble upon that conversation?” 

America shrugged. “It wasn’t exactly a conversation, more of a subtle exchange with double meanings. At any rate, we should have her  
and her lover over some time.” 

“Alright. You said her name is Halona? Where is she from?” 

“Well, the way she described her family, I’m fairly sure her mother is a native, and her father was British. Well, specifically, American, but, you know. Same thing.”

He hummed. “Interesting. Yes, I’d love to meet her. You need as many friends who encourage you to read as possible.” 

“Hey, I read sometimes!” 

“Of course, love,” England replied in a teasing tone. He reached for one of the letters, broke an official-looking seal, and pulled out a piece  
of parchment to read. 

America tossed Matthew’s letter to the ground and opened up another one. He abruptly looked up at England. “England!” 

“What?” 

“You renewed the Molasses Act?”

“Yes...?”

“But why are you adding taxes to all this other stuff? Coffee? Wine? Sugar? Seriously? You know I love sugar.” 

“Debt, America, debt. You’ll be fine. It’s just a threepence on molasses- that’s half of the old tax. And the rest is relatively cheap, too.” 

“Do you know what this is going to do to the rum industry? And you’re limiting our exports? What the hell is that about?” 

England sighed, setting down his letter to give America his full attention. Gingerly, he ran a hand through America’s hair to soothe him. “Darling, you’re trading with the entire Caribbean, it seems. That’s not good for revenue.” 

“But now I’m basically just stuck trading with you and the British West Indies. That’ll screw up my economy!” 

“No, it won’t, it’ll help. Mercantilism is a team effort, love.” 

“Oh yeah?” America challenged, sitting up and digging through the mail until he found letters with the return addresses he knew he would find. He flopped back down and opened one up, telling England what it said. “Here, the British West Indies are already changing their prices on exports. Look! They’re skyrocketing. And all our exports are officially worth about as much as dirt since you’re forbidding me from sending grain or livestock. Look at what Antigua is charging me!” 

England took the paper from America, scanning it and sighing. He rubbed America’s shoulder in circles to continue calming him. “I’ll have a  
talk with her.” 

“Like that’ll do anything. And you didn’t have to send soldiers to interfere with the courts.” 

“America, you’ve been dodging the Molasses Act since it was passed by trading with pretty much everyone in the entire ocean. And it doesn’t matter how damning the evidence is, if someone is convicted for smuggling molasses, they never get a guilty sentence since they get a trial held by other, sympathetic colonials.” 

“So you’re promising judges that condemn my people 5% of the stolen cargo? That’s not a fair trial at all.” 

“Well, it’ll discourage smugglers, won’t it?” 

America shook his head in disbelief. “My people are entitled to a fair trial under British rule. I hope you haven’t forgotten that. And the tax itself is not just! We don’t even get a voice in Parliament. Or do you just think that I’m not as good as Scotland, so I don’t deserve one?” 

“You know that’s not true, don’t even say that,” England said firmly.

“Why can’t I have Parliament representatives?” 

“Because it’s inefficient to ship people back and forth across the Atlantic! On your average ship, it could take over half a year just to get to the other continent! We can't delay meetings like that so that American delegates can go back and forth!” 

He shook his head. “Use better ships! We use fast ships all the time!” 

“Are you hearing yourself right now? That’s completely ludicrous! Why can’t someone in London represent you? It’s not like they’re not British, too! Plus, I fight for you every time I end up stuck in a Parliament meeting, and I should say that I have your best interest in mind.”

“Then fix this!” 

“You know I can’t do that, either. American colonists pay a fraction of what English citizens do in taxes. For years, you’ve been getting off easy as far as taxation went, now I’m asking you to help me when I’m in a difficult situation, and you’re acting like a jerk.” 

America sat up, shrugging England’s hands off of him. “Excuse me?” 

“What else do you expect me to do? I tried raising taxes on the British, and the Cider Riots ensued. They just want you to help pay back Prussia and the Netherlands for the war that we fought to defend you! I don’t think that’s unreasonable.” 

“Oh give me a break, that war had nothing to do with protecting me. It was over extra land and your grudge against France.” 

“God, America, you are so insufferable! The English are paying twenty times more than you. All I’m asking for is threepence on molasses- half of what you used to have to pay!” 

“And a bunch more on literally every import that comes in!” 

“To promote internal trade! It’s your turn to do your part!” 

“My people were the ones that fought that war! Your imperial troops barely helped! We were the ones that died. Surely those pompous, arrogant aristocrats can handle the finances considering there was never a conflict in their towns, their friends and family didn’t die, and they weren’t on the front lines. Besides, you take from me every single day! Do I need to remind you how many of my citizens your Navy has kidnapped and forced to work for them?”

England ran a hand through his hair and rubbed his temples. They each made a good point, but someone had to pay the debt, and he was all too aware of it. “Can you please try to look at this from my perspective?” 

“What perspective? The one that was traveling the world and sitting in a lavish home in London while I was crouching in the trenches, fighting my friend and my brother… for you!” 

“I told you I didn’t want you to engage personally! I begged you to stay somewhere safe!” 

“Safer, not safe. Nowhere is safe. Not to mention that the pain inflicted on my people hurts me, too. And what if France had won? That would have hurt a lot more than getting grazed by a bullet. As much as I like him, it’d make me incredibly sick- you know that. What if he took me away like you took Canada? You put me at risk because you wanted to prove that you were better than him.” 

He gritted his teeth firmly, shaking his head. “That’s not true. I never wanted to put you in danger. Ever. I told you that in nearly every letter I sent.” 

America laughed bitterly. “Yeah, the letters. We sent letters because you were too busy for me. Scotland this, Wales that, France, Spain, Austria, treaty, blah, blah, blah. It was all so much more important than coming to see me.” 

“I’m the most powerful empire of all time- I have a lot to do! I’m sorry that you’re so clingy you can’t understand that!” Once again, he regretted saying that the moment he did. 

“Right,” America growled, “Sorry for loving you. My bad.” 

“That’s not what I meant.” 

“Of course not. Well, since you’re so busy, I’ll let you work. I wouldn’t want to get in your way with my neediness.” He stood and marched upstairs, slamming the bedroom door shut and locking it behind him.

The moment he was alone, America slid down against the wall, eyes tearing up. He didn’t understand why England had been so mean lately. Sure, he was under pressure, and America knew how difficult Prussia and the Netherlands could be about getting paid back, but he didn’t need to go and say all that stuff. 

A few minutes later, he heard a knock on the door. 

“What?” He spat. 

“Love, I’m sorry. Let me in so we can talk about this.” 

“Don’t you have something important to do? The sun never sets on the British Empire!” America mocked, glaring at England through the door, even though he couldn’t see him. 

England sighed, pressing his forehead against the rough wood. “Nothing is as important as my relationship with you. Just open the door.” 

“Is that a request or a command?” 

“America…” 

“Because if it’s a command, then gladly. I’m just a colony, after all.” 

He groaned, sitting down and leaning against the door. It wasn’t going to open any time soon, he could tell. “What do you want me to do?” 

America paused. He wasn’t sure. Honestly, if he were in England’s position, he likely would have made the same decisions. Not that he would ever admit that to him. “Go away.” 

England shut his eyes. “Do you really want me to leave you alone?” 

No. “Yes.” 

Heavy-hearted, England got up from the floor and walked back downstairs, glancing out the window. It was starting to get dark. Guess he was sleeping on the couch. 

He opened up a chest in the storage room full of blankets and pulled a couple out, going back to where he’d been relaxing with his lover not long ago to lay down. England drew the sheets up to his chin, trying to ignore how chilly it was downstairs. 

Pilgrim hopped up on the couch again, laying down on England’s feet. Her presence was warm and reassuring in his loneliness. 

His eyelids fluttered shut, and his breathing slowed down. He was on the very edge of sleep when he felt a hand on his shoulder. Flinching, he sat up, but it was only America. 

“You startled me.” 

“Sorry,” America whispered. 

He took England’s hand and pulled him up from the couch, leading him up the steps silently and into the bed, Pilgrim right behind them. Once England was under the covers, America scooted closer, wrapping his arms around him. 

Content, England leaned into his chest, nuzzling his neck. “G’night, America. I love you.” 

“I love you too. Good night.”


	3. Kaiya, Halona, and Winter

“We see with other eyes; we hear with other ears; and think with other thoughts, than those we formerly used.” -Thomas Paine

5 March 1764

Dearest America,

Thank you for your last letter and your kind regards. Senegal is doing much better and is quickly recovering, thanks to your advice.

I’m sorry about your fight with England and must admit that I am disappointed that we cannot trade any longer. Still, there are backwater ways of exchanging goods. Don’t worry; I won’t let you go without linens and champagne.

As far as your relationship goes, this is just emphasizing my point when we last met face to face. Don’t let England push you around. I’d never treat one of my colonies like that- just ask Canada.

Speaking of, thank you so much for assuring me of his well being and promising to look out for him. I shudder to think of what England may end up using his land for. But with you on his side, I can finally rest easy. You’ve done much for me already, but please continue persuading England to allow mail to travel between him and me again. In the meantime, however, I’ve included another letter to him in this envelope so you can mail it to him. You genuinely are wonderful for doing this for me, America. _Merci beaucoup._

In other news, I’ve been tied up in a strange situation. Vicious animals are plaguing one of my provinces in the southern-central part of my country. There have been numerous deaths already by what the locals are calling a monster. So far, 204 attacks have occurred, and around 100 people have died. The beast has been reported killed multiple times, but the attacks continue. Some are even claiming that it is a werewolf. I’m not sure how to calm the residents. What do you say to parents who have seen fifty children with their throats ripped out to make them feel that their families are safe?

The Italian brothers are going to visit me soon, and I am delighted. It has been too long since I have seen Italy and Romano. Just think of the food. It will be a great reunion; I can already feel it. 

This Halona girl you wrote of sounds like a good friend for you. Certainly, be careful, though. I think we both can figure out what happened to her mother and, consequently, her father, considering her circumstances. If I were you, I wouldn’t mention her family again. But dinner is a great idea! Just do not let England cook, or she may never come back.

I hope you are faring well and will continue to. Keep me updated on Canada and Halona, as this seems promising. Don’t let England get you down, and please be careful with our correspondence. I’d hate for him to be angry with you because you are helping out a friend.

I eagerly await your next letter, _mon ami._

Best regards,

France

*************

April 12, 1764

Dear France,

I am so glad that both you and Senegal are well. Be sure to tell her hello for me. Thank you for your kind support and wise counsel; they mean more than you know.

I’m shocked to hear about your animal attack issue. That is not something I’d expect that you’d encounter. Lucky for you, my mother was a Native, so I know the wild well, though since Jamestown was resettled, I haven’t exactly been in it. I’d advise sending out a hunting party to search for the animal. Make it a large party, but a skilled one. There is safety in numbers, but you will need cunning and capable participants to bring it down. I’m so sorry about the loss of life you have experienced due to this. It’s truly saddening to think about. If it makes you feel better, I’ve sent a ship with extra weapons on it (it should be arriving soon, the codes are the same as always). Perhaps that will aid you.

Good news, Canada is doing very well. His land is expanding due to England’s ambition, so there are now settlers moving north. He misses you greatly but is always delighted to receive one of your letters. There is one from him included in this envelope, an unusually long one.

More on Canada- he is considering coming south to stay with England and me in Boston. The house has plenty of room, but I am concerned about tensions between the two of them. From what he has said, he certainly has not taken a liking to England. I understand, of course, but I wish they got along. After all, we’re all parts of the same empire now, right?

Speaking of the empire, there has been a surge in population. The colonies are getting even more cramped, and many are itching to move west. However, the Proclamation of 1763 still stands, and I have a feeling that it will for a very long time. Mostly, I’m worried about brewing tensions.

Samuel Adams is furious about the Sugar Act. He’s not the only one, either. The sailors are enraged now that British soldiers are seizing and searching their cargo, the general public is livid over the unfair justice system, and, of course, all the rum makers are fuming. Our economy is already being affected by this, and it’s just barely come into play.

I understand his reasoning, but as citizens under British rule, we have a right to proper representation in Parliament, which we still don’t have. Previously, it wasn’t that big of a deal, but now that they are interfering with our government, it’s all anyone can talk about. I’ve pressed England about it, but he’s been strung out, and I’m sick of arguing with him.

Halona and her girlfriend are coming over tonight, so I am very excited. England and I could use some more friends, even if they are human. With only each other to talk to and being at odds, things haven’t been easy. We need some interaction with someone else for a change.

I am thrilled that you are going to be spending time with Italy and Romano. They could help you with your animal issue, perhaps. If not, you still will be in good company so long as Romano is appeased with plenty of tomatoes.

I’ll await more information about this all from you. Please let me know how it all goes, and if you ever need anything, don’t hesitate to ask. I know things have been trying since you lost Canada.

Your loyal friend,

America

*************

“America, will you set the table?” England asked while he dusted off the mantle. He had been cleaning for over an hour, obsessed with making sure the house was spick and span before the guests arrived.

America pulled down some plates from the cupboard and placed them on the tablecloth, arranging the silverware and glasses the way England liked it. “Sit down and rest, Iggy. You’ve been working for forever.”

“Well, how else will we make sure that this place is presentable?”

“I don’t think they’re going to be pulling out magnifying glasses and searching for dust particles. Trust me- you’ve done an outstanding job.” America went over to the fireplace, stirring the stew a bit.

A knock on the door startled England. He quickly put the duster away while America went to let the guests in. When he opened it, Halona was standing there in a lovely dress. Beside her was a caramel-skinned girl with hazel eyes and a kind smile.

“Welcome!” America greeted, “Come in.”

The girls stepped inside, and he took their cloaks, hanging them on the pegs by the door. England approached and kissed Halona’s hand, introducing himself. “Arthur Kirkland, a pleasure to meet you.”

She gave a polite nod. “My name is Halona. And this is Kaiya.”

Kaiya smiled. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Kirkland.”

“Please, call me Arthur,” he replied. “And this is, of course, Alfred.”

America gave Kaiya’s hand a quick kiss. “Dinner?”

Halona grinned. “Yes, please. I’m starving.”

America led the way to the kitchen, pulling out seats for the guests before ladling soup into a bowl while England chatted with them. He placed the dishes down, warning, “It’s hot.”

“That smells delicious,” Kaiya complimented.

America sat down, stirring his soup. “Thanks. So, how did you two meet?”

Kaiya blushed a bit. “Well, our families knew one another, so we’ve been friends since we were young girls. But it wasn’t until two years ago that we became closer.”

“That’s lovely,” England said.

“What about you two? When did you meet?”

America blew on his soup to cool it down. “Well, I lived here, and Arthur lived in London. Eventually, he visited, and our paths crossed due to politics and international relations. We, too, became friends, and eventually more.” He decided it was best to leave out the fact that this happened in the early 1600s.

“How’s your book, Alfred?” Halona asked.

“Very good, you give great recommendations. I’m about ¾ of the way finished already. I have no idea what I will read after, but maybe I will stop by the store, and you can help me find something.”

“I’m glad you’re enjoying it. You should read some of the epics next. I have a feeling you’d like them. They’re very hero-esque.”

England chuckled. “I’ve told him that a thousand times, but he hasn’t read any of them yet.”

“You enjoy the Greeks?”

“Yes, especially the myths. How about you?”

Halona smiled fondly. “I like them, too. My favorite is the story of Medusa. There are so many layers to it. Plus, she can turn people to stone, which is awesome.”

He laughed. “That’s a good one. Kaiya, do you like to read?”

Kaiya nodded. “Not as much as Halona, though. She’ll be up into the late hours of the night hunched over a book by candlelight while I try to convince her to come back to bed. But I do enjoy some light reading here and there.”

“That sounds like Arthur,” America laughed, “He reads all the time. It’s no wonder he tends to be exhausted.”

“So, Arthur, you used to live in London?” Kaiya inquired, “What was that like?”

“Rainy and rather brisk sometimes. But I love it there; it’s home.”

“That sounds nice. How long did you live there?”

England shrugged. “I’m not sure. A very long time, though. Longer than you’d ever believe, I assure you.”

“I’ve always wanted to travel to London. I’m not sure if I would be welcome, but if I were, I’d love to see the city and its landmarks. The drawings I’ve seen are amazing.”

America looked over to England. “I’ve seen them. They’re certainly beautiful.”

England chuckled. “Yes, well, it’s a very nice country.”

“I know. I love England,” America said.

England smiled softly. “It’s a nice place to live, but I have to admit, I truly love America.”

Halona glanced back and forth between them, not understanding the looks that they were exchanging. She didn’t question it, though, wondering if maybe it was just her imagination. “Do you two travel a lot?”

“All the time,” said England, “Though Alfred has less than me.”

“Where have you been to?”

He chuckled. “Pretty much everywhere. I think the shorter list would be places I have not been.”

Kaiya’s eyes widened. “Really? How about the Holy Roman Empire? Have you been there?”

“Yes.”

“What’s it like?”

“Cold. At least it was when I went there. The people can be a bit standoffish, but once you get them talking, they’re great. My friend there, Ludwig, is great. I stayed with him and his boyfriend, Feliciano.”

Kaiya stared out the window, eyes unfocused as she daydreamed. “I’ve always wanted to go there. Italy, too. And France and Denmark and Sweden and India. The world is just so big, you know? It’s a shame we will never live long enough to see it all.”

America and England would live long enough, but they nodded along, feigning agreement.

“We don’t need to see it all, though,” Kaiya said to her, taking Halona’s hand. “I’ve got my whole world right here.”

Halona’s cheeks turned a dusty rose, and for once, her confidant, collected, and amused demeanor stumbled. “Thanks.”

America liked seeing the two of them together. They complimented each other well. Halona was bold, ambitious, and witty, always ready with a quick remark and a double meaning. Kaiya was quieter and softer. She had a calming presence, and he thought it was adorable that she seemed to be the only one that could make Halona flustered.

“How is your uncle?” America asked her.

She regained her composure and answered, “Well enough for his age. He is old, though. Old enough that he’s making arrangements for after his passing.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. He’s not exactly my favorite person. To be honest, it’ll be a relief when he passes. Not to mention I’ll get the bookshop.”

America wasn’t quite sure how to respond to a statement so blunt. “Oh.”

“Have you got a family?”

“I did. My mother was a Native, but she fell ill. I’m not quite sure if she is still alive because I moved in with Arthur, and I haven’t been able to find her since…”

England took his hand underneath the table, giving it a tight squeeze. “But you have a brother.”

“That’s true. Samuelther’s name is Matthew. He lives up north in Quebec.”

“And your father?”

Since countries are not born the same way humans are, America didn’t have a father, but he made up a quick excuse. “I’ve never met him.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

He shrugged. “It’s alright. Can’t miss what you don’t have, right?”

“Well, I’m not sure about that,” Kaiya consoled. “But either way, that’s unfortunate. Arthur, what is your family like?”

“I have four brothers, some partial siblings, and a bunch of cousins.”

“I understand big families,” Halona chuckled. “I have seven sisters and four brothers. My family and tribe are extensive.”

“The same goes for me,” Kaiya said, “Though I have five sisters and six brothers.”

England’s jaw dropped. “I can hardly handle my brothers, and there are only four of them. I can’t imagine having six.”

“My siblings aren’t so bad. They tend to be very mature. However, my youngest sister is a handful. She’s a terror.”

The table laughed.

Kaiya sighed in contentment. “This dinner was amazing, but it’s getting late, and I’m exhausted. We should get home.”

“Yes, of course.”

They got up from the table, going to the door. The girls pulled on their cloaks while England offered, “Let us walk you home. It’s not safe on the streets once it’s dark.”

Kaiya glanced at the window. It was pitch black outside. “Are you sure?”

“Certainly.”

“Thanks,” she said gratefully.

America and England pulled on their coats and left with the girls. A few streetlamps still glowed, but most weren’t lit, leaving the area shadowy and eerie. America linked arms with Halona while Kaiya took England’s.

They strolled back, talking quietly and trying not to laugh too loud, but their cheery demeanor dropped when they stumbled onto a street with a small crowd. People were frowning, and some were speaking heatedly.

“This is annihilating our charter rights to govern and tax ourselves!” cried someone standing on a crate. As America looked closer, he recognized the man as being Samuel Adams, a notable man in his colony that he somewhat knew. “Why should we be denied the same rights as other English subjects?”

There was a roar of agreement from the audience, who didn’t look like a happy bunch.

“That’s all well and good, cousin,” said a short man America knew to be John Adams, “but what can we do? His majesty will never grant us a Parliamentary voice.”

“Simple, John. We boycott British luxury items. Our colonies have the supplies to sustain themselves. Once they realize that we will not stand for unrepresentative taxation, they’ll repeal this act.”

The crowd clapped and whistled, shouting their agreement.

Kaiya slunk back and hissed, “Maybe we should take a different route.”

Out of nowhere, someone slung an arm around England’s neck drunkenly. The stranger grinned at him and shouted, “Hey, you a shipping man?”

“Uh, no, sir.”

The eyes of more than a couple of protesters turned to see the small group of four standing close together and the man holding England. He looked Kaiya up and down with a slurred smile. Instantly, Halona stepped in front of Kaiya, prepared to block any hands that came her way.

But he didn’t pay the girls any more attention. Instead, he looked over at America. “How about you? A merchant? Cause if so, you should join the boycott.”

Before America could reply, England answered for him. “No, he’s not, either. We were just heading home. Sorry to interrupt your gathering.”

“Gathering? It’s a protest!” Someone objected.

“That’s right,” Samuel Adams agreed. “Over the unjust taxes Parliament has just placed on us.”

“Unjust?” England asked, raising a brow.

America grabbed his arm and murmured, “Don’t, they’re dangerous.”

A close protester squinted at them. “Hey, I recognize them! That’s Alfred F. Jones. He’s a politician. He’s on our side. But the other one’s a loyalist.”

“Eyebrows is a fuckin’ Tory?”

“A Tory? He’s the Tory! Never heard a man so adamant about the taxes.”

America pushed England back. “You must be mistaken, sir. We’re not-”

“Move aside!” Samuel commanded. His disciples parted like the Red Sea, allowing him to come through and examine them. He looked at America oddly. “Is there a reason you deny your identity, Alfred?”

“Look, we’re running rather late and took a wrong turn, Mr. Adams. I’m very sorry if we bothered any of you. We’ll take a different route.”

“I want to know what the fuck he’s doing going around with Arthur Kirkland, a friend of King George himself!”

An enraged man screamed, “Let’s tar Kirkland!”

Roars of agreement rose among the men, and America’s mouth went dry. They were referring to a brutal practice recently adopted by radicals where they seized loyalists, tax makers, and other people who weren’t patriots, coated them in pine tar, and threw feathers on them before parading them around the streets. It was a cruel, deeply humiliating practice that could leave blisters on both the victims and their reputations.

Halona saved the day by stepping up and grabbing England’s arm. “Sirs, he’s my friend, and I can assure you that he is no politician, nor is he of any threat to you.”

“That’s right,” Kaiya added. “And it would trouble us greatly if he were a Tory. Luckily, he is not. We’re sorry for any inconvenience.”

That put the radicals in an unfortunate position. To strip a man of his clothes and abuse him in front of not one but two women would be very wrong.

Just when Samuel was about to yell something else, the cousin he addressed earlier came up, grabbed him by the arm, and whispered something in his ear. Samuel sighed, straightened, and declared. “She’s right. I believe I have misidentified these men in the dim lighting. Have a good evening.”

“You, too,” America said, giving both Adamses a grateful smile.

He pulled England back, starting off. Quickly, Kaiya and Halona followed, falling into step beside them.

England sighed in relief. “That was nerve-wracking.”

“Nah, they weren’t going to hurt us or anything,” America said lightly, though he didn’t believe what he was saying. “They’re not rioting as bad as Rhode Island.”

“They still frightened me,” Kaiya admitted, glancing over her shoulder, but the protesters were far behind them, back to their speeches instead of directing their attention to the group. “Thank goodness you offered to walk us home.”

England changed the subject, not wanting to dwell on the boycotters anymore. “Left or right?”

“Left,” Halona answered, and they turned. Soon, they were at a cute little house with a blue mailbox.

“This is my place,” Kaiya said. “Thanks again for dinner.”

“Yeah, no problem. We should do this again sometime,” America chirped.

Kaiya nodded. “Definitely.”

Halona took her hand, lacing their fingers together and heading toward the house, waving. The boys returned the wave and watched them go inside before retracing their steps. This time, however, neither needed to talk about it to know they were taking a different route home.

“I’m sorry about that,” America sighed.

“About what?”

“The protest. I know it unsettled you.”

The Brit shrugged, but his troubled eyes betrayed him. “It’s not like it was completely unexpected. They’re right, anyway.”

“Wait. What?”

“Well, they’re right that boycotting luxury goods will make Parliament change their minds. With the violence breaking out lately, it’s only a matter of time before the act is revoked. But another will follow, and we’ll be back in the same spot again.” He paused for a moment. “Did you know the riot leader?”

“Yes. His name is Samuel Adams.”

“The smuggler?”

“Yes, again. He isn’t known for that here, though. He’s known for his radical politics and his great wealth. His cousin, John, is more of a loyalist than he is. He isn’t fond of the taxes, but he’s not an advocate for violence, either. I know both of them from various debates and political events.”

England hummed. “And do you find yourself more aligned with John or Samuel?”

“John. The tar attacks aren’t okay, and Samuel believes them to be a necessary part of protesting. Why do you ask?”

“I just wanted to know.”

America glanced around to make sure the coast was clear before taking England’s hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Let’s just go home and sleep.”

He yawned. “That sounds good.”

“Hey, Iggy?”

“Hmm?”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

*************

America carefully opened an envelope, splitting the seal and pulling the paper out. He scanned it and looked up at England.

“You repealed it.”

England's eyes didn’t leave his work. “Yes.”

Shocked, he reread the letter. The Sugar Act had been replaced by the Revenue Act, a cheaper alternative. In addition, a law called the Free Port Act had been passed, permitting America to resume his regular trading.

“Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me. Parliament is angry. More laws will follow.”

*************

England was right. The Currency Act tumbled in just a couple of months later, forbidding the colonies from printing their own money and recalling the bills. This, of course, drove the people into a frenzy. Inventor and doctor Benjamin Franklin was pressing for it to be revoked the moment he heard, and it was all a mess again.

This, thankfully, didn’t cause much friction between England and America, however. For years, colonial money had been confusing, and the value was always fluctuating. Only working with British currency instead of a mix of the two would make merchanting much easier.

The people didn’t care, though. They felt like England was stripping them of their individuality. It seemed like every day they ran into another rally.

England groaned as they turned, taking a different street to avoid a protest. “When are they going to give it up?”

“I don’t know. They’re stubborn. But they’ll calm down. Personally, I’m glad we’re only using one currency system now. Much less confusing. And less work.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re happy. I’m tired of fighting.”

“Me too.” He pulled open the door to the bakery, holding it for England before letting it fall shut to keep out the cold September air.

Leaves were sweeping down the streets, and people were beginning to wear heavier coats, the first signs that winter was near. It depressed America to know that he’d be cooped up inside soon, but England was thankful for the brisk weather. It reminded him of the nip in London’s air and, consequently, home.

“Good morning, Alfred. Morning, Arthur,” greeted the cheery baker.

Like always, it smelled delicious inside. Their stomachs were already growling.

“Good morning,” England returned. “How’s your son, Jordan? Any better?”

He sighed. “His fever broke, but he’s still very sniffly and exhausted. He’ll be alright, but I worry about him.”

“I’m sure he’ll bounce right back,” America reassured.

The baker’s smile returned. “Yeah, he’s a resilient kid. So, how many muffins?”

“That’s a good question. Arthur, how many muffins do we want?”

“Four, please.”

He nodded, sliding open the case and plucking his popular muffins out to wrap in a cloth. “You two have been spending a lot of time with those two dark-haired girls, lately, haven’t you?”

“Yes, they’re good friends of ours,” England replied, paying him.

“Friends?”

“Friends.”

“Hmm. Well, let’s just say that if in the future you needed muffins for four, I’d be happy to help you out.”

America chuckled, though not at the baker’s joke. “That’s sweet of you, Mr. Jenkins, but if we all visit together, it’ll be purely platonic.”

“Alright, alright. Enjoy the muffins!”

The couple went back outside, America already stuffing his second muffin in his mouth. “He’s onto us, Artie.”

England cocked his head. “Pardon?”

“He knows we’re courting Kaiya and Halona!”

The Brit laughed. “Whatever will we do?”

“Actually, that’s not such a bad idea.”

“What?” England questioned, astounded.

“I mean, we could pretend to court them. I could pretend to court Halona, and you could pretend to court Kaiya. Then no one would suspect that we were together or that they were a couple. Don’t want to be hanged, after all.”

England shrugged. “Well, as long as another nation does not kill us, we won’t die from hanging.”

“Still. Hanging doesn’t sound like fun, and I have a feeling us returning would startle the townsfolk. The last thing I need is more witch hunts to deal with.”

“I know what you mean. I just finished shutting one down in some of the more rugged countrysides down south. Hey, speaking of Halona, are you going to go get any more books soon?”

“I’m almost done with Don Quixote. Then I’m going to read The Merchant of Venice.”

England’s eyes lit up. “Will!”

America looked over at him skeptically. “You knew Shakespeare?”

A rush of blood went to England’s cheeks as he flushed. “I… uh… yes. He was an incredible writer.”

“Your face is red.”

“It’s cold out here.”

“How well did you know him?”

“Very well. He was wise beyond his years. And smart. He could learn anything in a day, it seemed. Some people say that he was crazy, but that’s not true. Once in a while, he could be short-tempered, but his head was always on his shoulders. Quiet, intuitive, but funny. He could make anyone laugh. He was passionate, too. So passionate. He felt everything so deeply and so strongly, it would overwhelm him sometimes. He’d need to retreat to... well, to me, for a few days. But that was okay. I liked having him near.”

America didn’t say anything for a long time. “You two were together, weren’t you?”

“Yes. He even knew who I truly was. But we couldn’t stay together since he was human. Eventually, he died, and I was alone. Then I found you, and I love you now.” He grabbed America’s hand to give it a quick squeeze, then stuffed it back in his pocket before anyone could see.

“Hmm. You’re the only one I’ve ever been with. I mean, I was in love with this one boy, his name was Davvy, but he was human, too, and not attracted to me in that way. So I sort of get it.”

“Well, I may miss Will sometimes, but I don’t miss my partner. I just miss my friend, you know?”

“Yeah. Let’s get home.”

England nodded, glancing around the frigid street, memories of candles burning down to their wicks, melted wax, sheets spread across desks, and sonnets scribbled down, dedicated to him flashing through his mind’s eye. And William’s voice, murmuring, _“Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?”_

*************

Winter swept through on the wind, covering Boston in snow and ice. The air was bitingly cold, and fires roared in each stone house so that families could crowd around them, thawing fingers and toes.

Many shops closed during the worst parts of it. The ones that remained open didn’t have as much business as they’d have liked. When people did go out, they did so wrapped in cloaks that hid their pink faces from frostbite, and they tried to get home as soon as possible.

The weather was much harsher outside town, though. At least in Boston, some of the buildings broke the wind. But out on the farmlands and plains, it was a constant battle to escape hypothermia. Lips were chapped, palms cracked, and goosebumps were a constant.

West was the native land. Its inhabitants were draped in heavy furs and hunkered in cabins with mud-packed cracks to keep out drafts.

Along a river, two girls were trekking perilously toward the Oneida tribe’s villages. They held onto their horses for support and stumbled through snowdrifts until they reached the forest that they knew by heart. Each tree had a memory attached, and every rock had impacted their childhoods in some way.

One girl smiled softly at a small clearing where they used to play with corn husk dolls. Eventually, they approached longhouses with smoke billowing from the smoke holes on the tops of them. They went up, tied their horses to a tree, and opened the door, immediately hit with warmth.

Inside were many family units working together in the smoky air. Clothes hung on lines to dry, looms were propped against the right wall, beds were aligned in rows, dried foods dangled from hooks on the ceiling, pots were stacked up with water inside, and children played with balls.

“Halona! Kaiya!”

The girls smiled. Kaiya’s mother came over, embracing each of them. Greetings were exchanged, and they were led deeper into the house to see the rest of their families. Each longhouse hosted two families, and this was theirs. They hugged their respective siblings, cousins, aunts, uncles, nieces, and nephews with light hearts. It’d been too long since they’d seen their families.

“How is Boston?” Kaiya’s mother asked.

Kaiya shrugged. “Good.”

She seemed unconvinced. She’d never supported them moving into a colonial city with the same people that had persecuted tribes not too long ago. Despite this, she smiled warmly. “I’m glad you’re visiting. But in such harsh weather?”

“We took the shortcut through the Mohawk Valley,” Halona told her.

“You know you never need a reason to visit, but I assume you have one…?”

Somberness washed over them as Halona glanced toward one of the beds in the back. “I wanted to visit my mother. You never know if it’ll be the last time.”

Kaiya squeezed her hand. “Go to her.”

Halona nodded, crossing the house and sitting down on the foot of her mother’s bed. The woman in the bed had dark skin, but she was pale with sickness. Gently, Halona brushed some hair out of her mother’s face.

The woman in the bed stirred and opened her eyes. “Halona?”

“Hi, mama.”

She smiled weakly. “You’re here.”

“Of course.”

“But… You live in Boston. Your uncle… Where…”

“He’s fine. I came back to visit you. Kaiya came, too.”

Her mother smiled knowingly. “My daughter, I love you. Very much. And I hope you are happy in Boston with Kaiya.”

“I am, but I miss you.”

“Do not worry about me. The Good Spirit takes us all eventually, but I will return to you somehow, be it in the trees, or the wind, or a bird, but know that you will not be alone.”

Halona felt her chest tighten. “I love you.”

“I love you, too. You will be okay.”

“No, not without you. You’ll keep fighting, right? Don’t give up. Don’t give up on me.”

“Never. But you must face the realities. Death is coming for me, and it cannot be resisted. Not forever.” She took Halona’s hand, smiling up at her. “I am so proud of you. So very proud. You will be great someday, Halona. I am sure of it.”

Halona took a shaky breath, tears slipping from her eyes without her even realizing it. “Thank you.”

She gave a soft smile and relaxed into the pillow, eyes falling shut and hand slipping from Halona’s. A soft breeze came through the longhouse, and she was gone.

Broken, she whispered, “Goodbye, Mama,” and dissolved into tears.


	4. Colonies

“One of the most essential branches of English liberty is the freedom of one’s house. A man’s house is his castle.” -James Otis

Kaiya pulled her white furs and hood in tighter, creeping forward behind Halona. Upon their return, they changed into the clothes of their tribe instead of the colonial dresses that they wore in Boston.

Hunting was all that cleared Kaiya’s girlfriend’s mind, and though Kaiya didn’t enjoy it, she went with hopes that it would make Halona feel better, even though the spear in her hand felt unnatural.

Halona was ahead, light gray dress beaded and draped in matching furs to keep her warm. Her bow was drawn, and her eyes alert as she searched for prey. She stopped abruptly, holding up a hand. Kaiya froze, watching her study the forest. In Kaiya’s opinion, she was beautiful when she was hunting. When her green eyes would flicker and against the snow, their color stood out. Besides, it was hot in general.

“What is it?” Kaiya whispered.

Halona didn’t glance back. “Deer. Close.”

She started off again, close to the ground. Kaiya copied, heart hammering for more than one reason.

They wound through snow, dead bushes, pine trees, and other forest obstacles until they stopped again and crouched behind an evergreen. Kaiya watched Halona grab an arrow and squint through the needles. A buck was just beyond them, munching on a bit of grass poking up through the ground’s film of powdery white.

She released the bowstring, and the arrow flew straight and true, easily making a kill shot. The buck dropped, and Kaiya was glad it didn’t suffer when they emerged and looked down at it.

Halona pulled a coil of rope out of her sack, binding the deer to make transportation easier. She took one loop and tossed the other to Kaiya.

“Good shot,” Kaiya commented.

“Thanks.” She knelt beside the deer for a moment, muttering a prayer in their native tongue before standing and beginning the journey back through the frozen forest.

Kaiya squinted up at the sun shining through birch branches. Early mornings were miserable, in her opinion. She’d have much preferred to lay in bed under thick, warm furs with Halona for hours. But alas, here they were, in the snow instead.

It had been two days since Halona’s mother had died. Already, she was preparing to go back to Boston. After bringing the deer back, they’d be packing their bags and getting on their way.

It was all too fast. When Halona was upset, she tended to clam up. She’d push people away, not acknowledge what was ruining her, and begin plowing forward without faltering. After so many years, Kaiya knew better than to push her, but it was hard to watch her grit her teeth and just… do. Not discuss, not feel, just act.

The longhouses were appearing from between the trees, smoke trailing up from the chimneys, and people milling about outside. Children were tumbling in the snow, a mother dumping used cooking water, and a young man flirting shamelessly with a woman supervising the kids.

Home. It was good to smell the smells, hear their language, and see people like them. In Boston, it was all petticoats, English, and carriages with glass window panes. Here, it was much freer.

Halona passed the deer off to the woman, who was eager to play hard to get with the man trying to win her affections and take care of it as if she didn’t care that he was tripping over himself to get her to notice him.

Inside, the lodge was filled with thin smoke and work being done. Care for Halona’s mother had already been completed, as she was already on the funeral platform high in the trees above them so that her spirit could easily pass on. All that was left was the trip home, the memories, and a lingering tinge of melancholy.

*************

“What do you mean, you’re going back home?” America demanded.

England sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Just for a short time. I need to meet with Parliament and the King face to face. Letters aren’t good enough.”

“But-”

“America, I’ve been here for years. They need me back. Maybe a year isn’t long for you and me, but to humans, it is. Besides, with all these debt issues, you need me to be there.”

“Why?”

“Because you don’t like helping with our debt. So I’m going to try to soften the blow.”

America knew deep down he was right, but it didn’t make it any easier. “When will you be back?” 

“I don’t know, love. It depends on how well the negotiations go. No more than two years.”

He already felt anxiety stirring in his stomach. “But I’ll be alone.”

England sighed, kissing him gently. “You won’t be alone. You have Halona and Kaiya, remember? And wasn’t Quebec thinking about visiting? Perhaps he can come down here while I’m away to keep you company. I know he doesn’t like me much, anyway. This could be good for all of us.”

His eyes drifted to the window, unable to look at England anymore. “You promise no more than two years?”

“Yes.”

“Say it.”

He sighed. “I promise.”

*************

England left two weeks later, sailing out of Boston Harbor on the best ship available. America wouldn’t let him settle for any less when his safety was at risk. Even if he wouldn’t die in a shipwreck, he could be lost at sea. That wasn’t a chance America was willing to take.

Kaiya and Halona visited frequently, and it wasn’t long at all before America sent a messenger with a letter north to deliver it to his brother.

Canada didn’t write back. He came as soon as he got the letter, not bothering to respond before arriving.

When he showed up on America’s doorstep in the middle of January, it was a surprise, to say the least.

“You’re not wearing a coat,” was the first thing America said.

Canada shrugged. “It’s not cold.”

“It’s snowing.”

He blinked uncomprehendingly. “So?”

“Nevermind. Come in.”

Canada got settled in quickly, and the idea of inviting France over for a couple of months was bounced around but not enacted. America was too nervous England would find out and be mad. 

Days bled blissfully together, full of Canada and America lounging on the couch together, going on walks, and hanging out with Kaiya and Halona.

“Do you miss your country?” America asked. Canada was sprawled on the bed with him, leaning against his chest and reading a book.

“Not much. Ever since England took me away from my Papa, it hasn’t been the same. I don’t like it as much. It feels foreign, somehow.”

America hummed in contemplation.

“What about you?”

“Huh? I’m in my country.”

“Yeah, but it’s not really yours, is it?”

America blinked in confusion. “Yes, it is. I’m the manifestation.”

Canada shook his head. “That’s not what I meant. It’s England’s, technically, isn’t it? You’re England’s.”

That statement made something strange stir in his gut, but he ignored the feeling. It wasn’t one he liked to let through. “Not really.”

“Alright,” Canada shrugged. “Anyway, we’ve got a lot of work to do.”

America groaned. “Why did you remind me?”

“Come on,” Canada said, pushing himself up off the bed. “It’s our duty as ‘loyal British citizens.’”

“We’re not-” He stopped again, deciding it was better just to change the subject as they headed downstairs. “I’ve got a thousand letters from Thomas Jefferson. He’s angsty about current affairs.”

Canada sat down at the table. “What current affairs?”

“Exactly. Jefferson’s just overdramatic. He’ll get over it soon.”

Canada opened up one of the letters addressed to him and cracked the seal, scanning it. “World news.”

“What’s it say?” America asked, sitting down across from him.

“King Fredrick of Prussia has issued a decree abolishing punishments against unmarried women for ‘sex crimes,’ which no longer exists.”

“Good for Prussia!”

“He’s a bit behind, but yes.” Canada put the letter away and opened another one, beginning to sign something.

America rifled through some of his own. “Shit.”

“What?”

“Charles Townshend. That Brit I was talking to you about. Apparently, he was trashing the colonies, and now one of mine is fuming mad. There’s another union forming.”

“What’s it called?”

“The Sons of Liberty. It feels like every day, things get more complicated.”

“I know what you mean. And it’s the little things. Like, look at this.” He flipped his letter around and pointed to the address. “See what it says?”

“Quebec.”

“Exactly. I don’t like my new name. The Province of Quebec. Too many words and too complicated. Not to mention it sounds overdramatic. I miss being Canada.”

“If it makes you feel any better, I still call you Canada. The only one actually calling you Quebec is England.”

Canada sighed, tossing aside an empty envelope. “Thanks, America.”

“Anytime. Hey, I know what will cheer you up!”

A skeptical look crossed his face. “What?”

“Muffins! There’s this place down the street that’s delicious. The baker, Mr. Jenkins, is super nice and oh, the muffins taste so good, and they’ll make it less terrible to do our work and-”

“That’s a run-on sentence.”

“Wow, and I thought England had left.”

Canada laughed, pushing aside some of his work. “Alright. Come on, let’s get some muffins.”

*************

America was right- the muffins did make work easier. It became part of their daily ritual of sorts. America would wake up first, and Canada, as soon as he was up, would go into America’s room to cuddle in bed. They’d always been affectionate brothers, mostly because Canada was impossible not to love, but also because America said he smelled like maple syrup and home, and Canada was always happy to get acknowledgment from anyone.

Pilgrim would hop up into their bed and curl up on Canada’s stomach, purring contentedly. She loved him and followed him around the house a lot.

After a while, Canada would insist they had work to do, so they’d dress and go to the bakery for muffins before doing their work at the kitchen table together. Lunch was always whatever they could find on hand, and if they had time, they’d do something fun before dinner, which Canada would make. He was an excellent cook, in America’s opinion. Considering that he lived with England most of the time, maybe Canada was an average cook, but he was extraordinary by comparison (except bacon- England was still the only one that could do it perfectly).

Nights were for conversation and reading before they went to their respective rooms and slept, ready to repeat the whole thing tomorrow- muffins and all.

It was while eating one of these muffins that America choked and spat crumbs on Canada’s sleeve.

“Ah!” Canada exclaimed in disgust, wrinkling his nose. “It’s all over me!”

America coughed and swallowed his muffin bite, eyes wide as he stared at a document in front of him.

“America?”

Still no response. All America did was stare, completely dumbfounded.

“America? Did you hear me? You spit all over me, and now my sleeve is gross. I… _what_ are you looking at that’s so interesting?”

America mumbled something that might have been an apology, but Canada didn’t hear. He went upstairs to change his shirt, and when he returned, America was still reading that document, though now he was on the second page.

Canada huffed and marched up, swiping it out of America’s hands. “What could possibly be that….”

Canada froze, also shocked by the news said document brought. “Whoa.”

“Do you see what it says?” America fumed. “Do you see?”

“Yes. The Stamp Act, effective November first.”

“England’s taking more of my money. More! God, the whole reason he left was to prevent this from happening! I mean, what the hell?”

Canada set it back down on the table. “Maybe he’s trying. He and parliament are at odds sometimes. He’s not ultimately in charge, you know.”

“But I can’t afford this! And my people are going to be so, so angry. Also- how dare they seriously try to assert power over me? I’ve been self-governed for, like, forever!”

“Well, I mean, he’s already taxing the people living in his country way more than you, and he has to pay off the debt. I think it’s fairly reasonable.”

America looked at Canada like he had just slapped him in the face. “Are you taking his side?”

“No,” Canada sighed, realizing how this conversation would play out unless he listened to America. “I was just trying to think about it from his perspective, too.”

“Is he taxing you?”

“Of course, I’m part of his empire.”

“No, but is he taxing you extra right now?”

He grimaced. “Not quite as much as you. But then again, he’s trying not to upset my people any more than he already has. It’s a delicate balance, you know?”

America didn’t appear to be listening anymore. He was pacing relentlessly up and down the kitchen. “There’s a fee on every single piece of paper for every use known to man with a thousand different possible charges! Listen to this: three pence, two shillings, one shilling, and sixpence, another threepence, a shilling, two pounds, ten shillings, five shillings, four shillings, fourpence… twenty shillings for letters and licenses! It may not sound like much, but half a penny here and a shilling there adds up, Canada!”

“I know.”

“He can’t just tax us without us even getting a say! How come Ireland, Scotland, and Wales get representation in Parliament but not me? I mean, what the hell? He hates them!”

“You have a good point there.”

“Well, if he expects me to just take this lying down, he’s got another thing coming.”

“I highly doubt he expects that. I doubt anyone ever expects you to cooperate with anything.”

America didn’t even acknowledge the subtle dig; he just tossed the paper onto the table, announcing that he was going for a walk, and left.

*************

America was not lying when he said that he would fight back over the tax. His people were, somehow, even angrier than him. Within days, boycotts began, debates sparked, and angry letters were posted. There were also a couple of attacks on tax collectors throughout the colonies, particularly in Boston.

Maybe the anger would have blown over. Maybe things could have calmed down if the British government had just waited before initiating another law.

They did not.

Two days after the Stamp Act was set to the colonies, the Quartering Act of 1765 came tumbling in after it.

Once again, Canada was there to witness America’s reaction, which was, of course, explosive. The barracks weren’t so crowded that quartering was a significant issue yet, but the concept sent him into another rant.

“This contradicts the Bill of Rights of 1689!” America had yelled, showing Canada the document. “And again- no representation! Why are the soldiers even still here? The war is over!”

“I don’t know.”

America threw himself down on the couch, face red. “I can’t believe him. I just can’t. Why is he… why would he…?”

Sympathetically, Canada sat down beside him, rubbing his back. “I’m sorry about this.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“But it’s making you upset. You’re right, you deserve representation, just like anyone else, and he shouldn’t be treating you like this. I just don’t know what choice you have.”

“I’ll figure something out.”

He did. Within just three months, the Virginia Stamp Act Resolutions were proposed by Patrick Henry, and four were resolved.

Debate ensued, but not much had changed. Canada watched in concern as stress and anger wore America down. Every day, he was scared that they’d receive more bad news. It wasn’t easy to watch England wreck his own relationship.

*************

“Careful, you’ll slip!” Canada warned, grabbing Kaiya’s arm before she could slide off the ice on her front step.

She chuckled in relief. “Thanks. Hello, Alfred.”

America smiled. “Hi. Where’s Halona?”

“Here!” Halona rushed out the door of Kaiya’s house, running right over the ice before anyone could warn her, but she just skated across it with ease, coming to a controlled stop.

It was only October, but it rained yesterday and dropped below freezing last night, turning the streets into dangerous paths. The sun was up now, though, and it wasn’t unpleasant outside.

Since it got warmer, America and Canada had spent more time with Kaiya and Halona. They would go on walks, visit other friends, and sometimes even hunt together.

Today, though, they were heading to the tavern for cards and drinks. Entertainment was fairly limited, but Halona was a genius when it came to making up brand new card games for them to play.

When they arrived at the tavern, it was quiet. They ordered and sat down, Canada shuffling the cards. “What’s the game today?”

“Rummy, maybe?” Halona suggested.

“Sounds good to me.”

“Sure.”

Canada started dealing the cards. “So, how have you guys been?”

“Good,” Kaiya answered. “It’s been quiet. We visited our family two weeks ago, and that was nice.”

“Yeah, and the bookshop is doing well. All this political unrest is great for business because everyone that prints their opinions is happy to give us stacks of pamphlets that people will come in to collect. While they’re there, it’s not hard to convince them to get a book while they’re at it. How about you two?”

“We’re good, too. Busy, but it's still good.”

“How’s Arthur?”

America chuckled awkwardly. “Uh, well, I haven’t gotten many personal letters since he left. Maybe two or three. He’s working a lot.”

“Only two or three?” Kaiya asked, puzzled. “That’s odd. He seems like the kind of person that would happily write letters all the time.”

“He is normally. I don’t know. He’s probably just busy or doesn’t have much to say.”

Canada laid three cards down on the splintery wooden table. “Anyway, do you guys have any plans for the weekend?”

“Our family has a lot of harvesting to do. We may head home and help out.”

“That sounds fun.”

“It’s not, but it needs to be done. The weather will get too cold soon, and our crops will die if we don’t get everything preserved and packed away, which means we have to do it fast. Unfortunately, most years, we still lose a portion of our food to the weather because we can’t get done in time.”

“Maybe we could help,” America suggested. “Perhaps having two extra pairs of hands could make a difference.”

Halona shook her head. “That’s very nice of you, but no. I doubt that all of them will take kindly to you.”

“Well, if there’s anything we can do, or if you change your minds, let us know.”

“We will. So, Alfred, are you ready for another book?”

He smiled. “Just about. I’m almost done with the poetry collection you lent me. Any recommendations for what I should read next?”

“Always. How does Much Ado About Nothing sound?”

“Arthur has recommended it a thousand times, but I haven’t read it yet. Is it as good as people say it is?”

She shrugged. “I like it.”

“Alright, then. I’ll read that next.”

Kaiya drew from the deck. “We’ve been thinking about getting a dog.”

America gasped in delight. “Oh, I love dogs!”

“You do? But you don’t have one.”

“Arthur says they smell bad. But if you’re going to get a dog, I’d love to help you find one, if that’s okay. I know all about them, too, so I can help make sure you get a good one.”

“Alright. We were going to get one for safety. With so much civil unrest and our trips alone back home, we’re vulnerable.”

Halona rolled her eyes. “I wouldn’t say that.”

Kaiya sighed as if this was something they’d discussed quite a few times. “Either way, it would be nice to have a dog around. Any breed ideas?”

“English Shepherds are very trainable, and there are a lot of them. Newfoundlands work well, too. But most dog breeds will do their job if they’re trained right.”

“That’s helpful, thank you,” said Halona, albeit a bit bitingly.

Canada shuffled his cards around to organize them by suit. “Do you have any other pets right now?”

“No. Do you?” Kaiya asked.

He nodded. “I had a dog, but she died.”

Kaiya gasped. “Oh, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to-”

“It’s alright.”

“Alfred, do you have any pets?” Halona interrogated, laying out some cards on the table to play off of his hand.

“A calico cat named Pilgrim, but she doesn’t like me much. She hardly ever lets me pet her. The only time she does is when she gets in bed with Arthur or Matthew and me. She loves them to death.”

“Maybe she’ll warm up to you. They just give off more of cat-people-energy.”

They fell into a comfortable silence, taking their turns in a clockwise rotation and basking in the warmth of the tavern’s fireplace.

*************

November had finally come, much to the colonies’ dismay. The taxes were enacted, and soon there were attacks on collectors all over the city. Canada once stumbled onto a street where some rebels had jumped a collector to cover him in tree tar and feathers while they mocked him. He ran back to America’s house as soon as he saw.

America was feeling the frustration, too. More and more colonists were being required to house soldiers by the day.

Four had invaded Kaiya’s home, so Halona went back to stay with her uncle, and Kaiya came with her. Not long after, her uncle died, meaning that Halona was in charge of the bookstore. They were content there for about half a week. Then six soldiers shacked up, and they weren’t the politest type.

America had happily welcomed them into his home to keep the soldiers away from them. This should have been alright, but the girls fell into legal trouble for not feeding and taking care of the soldiers in their homes, much to their rage.

It could have been a very sticky situation if America hadn’t put his foot down with what little power he had in the way of the Quartering Act and protected the two of them. A few weeks earlier, England had mailed a document providing a one-time-free-pass on quartering, apologizing for what was going on and assuring him that he could use it to get out of any trouble with the troops that he may run into. The judge begrudgingly pardoned the girls, saying that they didn’t have to return home and that all charges were dropped, but America was officially left without anything to stop a soldier if he wanted to stay in his house.

The girls took the guest bedroom beside Canada’s. America offered them separate rooms (he had three guest rooms), but they insisted that it was alright and that he needn’t prepare yet another room.

This was good for him. He tended to get lonely, so it was nice to have people close to him nearby. It also made the house feel more lively. Kaiya was an incredible cook, so she and Canada teamed up on many meals, each teaching the other how to create new dishes.

Their new dog, a white and caramel English Shepherd, as America had suggested, was named River. He kept close to them, particularly Kaiya. He also dissuaded any possible criminals from breaking in. Crime rates had risen with all this pent up anger the colonists were experiencing. The last thing America needed was to deal with a break-in, too.

Mr. Jenkins, the baker, and his family were stuck with two soldiers, both of whom were mean and demanding. One had even hit his wife when she talked back to him. But there was nothing that could be done. Everyone was just powerless.

America wrote angry letters, of course. He told England exactly how much he hated his men barging into his people’s homes like they owned the place and how pissed he was that England made this happen.

Any letters back were apologetic but formal, full of England claiming it was a last resort and that he tried to do everything he could before it got to this point. The letters did make America feel a little bit better.

His correspondence with France was less now that he was not needed as a medium to get letters to and from Canada. With Canada in the colonies, he could easily send mail to France.

On the bright side, though, he enjoyed having more people around to talk to.

A knock on his bedroom door startled America out of his thoughts. “Come in!”

Canada peeked his head through the door. “Dinner is almost ready.”

“Awesome!”

America hurried downstairs after him, inhaling the sweet smell of cookies. “Are you baking, too?”

Kaiya, who was pulling a tray out of the brick oven, grinned. “Yeah. I hope you like chocolate chip.”

“I love chocolate chip cookies.”

The front door clicked as the lock was undone, and Halona came inside, hanging up her cloak and relocking the door behind her. Kaiya hurried over, giving her a quick kiss. “Welcome home. How was work?”

“Boring. People don’t buy as many personal items now that the soldiers are here. Apparently, they take and destroy everything.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. Hey, do I smell cookies?”

Kaiya smiled, opening a cupboard and taking out some dishes, which she passed to Canada to put on the table. “Yep.”

“You’re the best.”

She flushed. “Thanks.”

“So, what’s for dinner?” America asked, plopping down in his seat at the table.

Canada carried a hot dish over and set it down beside a loaf of bread. “Salmon, corn, mashed potatoes, and bread.”

“It smells great, guys.” He took a big bite of corn. “Tastes great, too.”

“I should hope so,” said Kaiya, “We spent hours on it.”

“So, Halona, how are you doing with your uncle and all?”

Halona shrugged nonchalantly. “Fine. I’m glad that he’s gone. He was a drunk and a scoundrel. Besides, now the bookshop is mine.”

“Anyway,” Kaiya interjected. “I saw Mr. Jenkins today. His son has recovered from his latest ailment.”

“I swear, that kid is always sick,” America commented. “Poor thing. How was everyone’s day?”

Halona went first. “Fair. As I said, business is slow. But we’re expecting a shipment by Tuesday. How about you?”

“Meh. A lot of work. Things are crazy.” He handed a piece of salmon to River under the table.

“What is it that you do, exactly?” Kaiya asked. “I’ve lived with you for three weeks, and I’m just now realizing that I don’t know what you do outside of the fact that it takes place via mail.”

“Oh, you know... politics.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I’m a politician. It can be taxing work, and things have been stressful lately. Everything is so chaotic. I don’t want to talk about work. Kaiya, how was your day?”

She smiled. “Very nice. I made three pairs of trousers, four shirts, and a corset that will fetch a good price.”

“That’s wonderful!”

“Yes, I’m very proud of how much I got done. Matthew, how about you?”

“Great. My work was more peaceful, and I did some of it in bed, which is always nice.”

She frowned. “I don’t know exactly what you do, either.”

“I’m a politician, too, just like Alfred and Arthur.”

“Wow. There sure are a lot of you, aren’t there?”

He laughed. “Yes, I suppose there are.”

“I was wondering,” Kaiya began, “When is Arthur returning? He’s been gone for a long time.”

America sighed. “April, probably.”

“That’s nearly five months from now! You must miss him a lot.” She said sympathetically.

“I do. But it is what it is.”

Halona took another slice of bread and began to butter it. “I’ve been thinking about revisiting my family, perhaps in a week or two.”

“That sounds nice. You most certainly should. I know you don’t see them often.”

She nodded. “I miss my siblings and cousins. You’d come, wouldn’t you, Kaiya?”

“Of course. It’s been a while since I’ve seen everyone. Oh, I almost forgot. A letter came for you today.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I picked up everyone’s post. It’s from your uncle’s lawyer. Probably just more inheritance stuff.” She got up and started clearing dishes since everyone was nearly finished before grabbing the cookies and setting them down on the table for everyone to share.

“These are amazing!” America said through a mouthful.

Canada and Halona nodded in agreement.

“Thank you! Maybe tomorrow I’ll try to make some s-”

A hard knock on the door cut her off from whatever she was about to say next.

The four exchanged looks, unsure of who would be visiting and who should answer. Finally, America got up, putting his napkin down on the table, and opening the door.

On the front stoop were four British soldiers in uniform, all looking gruff and unwelcoming.

He smiled uneasily. “Is there something I can help you with, gentlemen?”

“We’re shackin’ up with you if you don’t mind,” said one. The soldiers pushed past America, kicking off muddy boots and slinging muskets onto the floor.

Another of them inhaled deeply, sauntering into the kitchen. “Smells great. So, what’s for dinner?”


	5. The Soldiers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: Abuse

“These are the times that try men’s souls.” -Thomas Paine

Living with the British soldiers was, in a word, hell.

When they first arrived, they had to hastily hide all the paintings and drawings exposing America and England’s relationship before the soldiers noticed. At least they weren’t observant.

They were loud, inconsiderate, and generally rude. Immediately, they took all four bedrooms, so Halona and Kaiya slept on the couch (at Canada and America’s insistence), while the brothers slept on the floor. The soldiers were angry to be living with one native and one half native woman, which they voiced on occasion.

They also had a lot of demands about food, rooms, and tidiness that the girls and brothers were sick of meeting.

The four were named Richard, Ellis, Fredrick, and Philip. Each had their own specific flaws that made them terrible, but collectively, they were the worst, especially drunk.

America, Canada, and Kaiya found it very difficult to work in such a chaotic environment. Only Halona got to escape periodically to run the bookshop, but even that wasn’t long enough.

Canada tried to get America to write to England asking for another pardon, but he stubbornly refused to, saying he didn’t want any help from the person that put them in this position in the first place.

He was compliant after about two days, but the soldiers forbade them from sending personal mail. They said that it slowed their correspondences, which was, of course, completely ridiculous. America suspected that they overheard the conversation he and Canada had and didn’t want to be evicted. Alfred's house was, after all, one of the nicer ones in Boston.

Pilgrim was terrified of them. She tried hiding under the beds upstairs, but Philip would yell at her and pull her tail, so she started going under the desk in the study or curling up between the chests in the storage room.

River hated them, too. He was protective over the girls, and eventually, the soldiers made them put him outside. In the winter, it was almost cruel. They tried their best to accommodate him by folding up a mat on the side of the house below a small awning they’d assembled to keep the snow off of him. Kaiya knit him thick sweaters and socks, and Canada always warmed up his food before bringing it to him.

By the time March rolled around, it looked extraordinarily hopeless, but at least the weather was nice, so River wasn’t miserable.

The Stamp Act was repealed, but in the same envelope was the brand new Declaratory Act, exerting authority over the colonies and letting them know that Parliament had the same amount of power over them that they did over Great Britain.

This, of course, made America very angry, but there was little to be done outside of discussing it angrily with others. Not the soldiers, though, because they would likely hurt them if they said anything negative.

So life wasn’t quite ideal.

*************

Halona stepped inside, hanging her cloak up on a hook and removing her shoes. Kaiya was stirring the stew while Canada sliced a loaf of bread. Richard, Ellis, Fredrick, and Philip were all at the table. Ellis had his feet propped up while Philip sipped some rum carelessly.

“When’s the food gonna be done?” Richard asked.

“Soon.”

“Well, hurry up, I’m hungry.”

Halona glared at him but said nothing as she went over to Kaiya to help with the cooking.

“Welcome home,” Kaiya greeted stiffly. They could no longer kiss with the interlopers living amongst them.

Halona smiled tightly. “Thank you.”

She dished some food into two bowls and carried them over to the table, setting the bowls down and then bringing the other two. What remained, she served into another four bowls for herself, Kaiya, and the brothers.

They ate on the couch and armchair, exchanging looks when the soldiers laughed too loud.

“Hey! I’m finished.” Fredrick called.

Begrudgingly, Kaiya got up to take his bowl. When she took it, it slipped out of her hand and crashed to the floor, where the remaining stew splattered onto Fredrick’s foot.

“You stupid bitch, look what you did!”

“I’m sorry, I-”

He stood and slapped her across the face, sending her stumbling back.

Halona was on her feet and between them in an instant. “Don’t you dare touch her.”

“And who are you to stop me, savage?”

America stormed forward. “Don’t talk to her like that!”

“You better watch your mouth, boy, or I’ll-”

“Okay, okay,” Canada said, trying to keep the peace, “Let’s all just calm down. Kaiya, I’ll help you with the bowl. Alfred, why don’t you get Fredrick a napkin, yeah? Halona- would you please feed River and Pilgrim?”

The tension was high as America slowly got a napkin from the cupboard. Kaiya knelt and collected the pieces while Canada swept up the shards. You could have heard a pin drop.

Kaiya tossed the shards into the trash. “Sorry, Alfred,” she whispered.

He shook his head, putting a hand on her shoulder. “It’s completely fine. Are you okay?”

“Yeah. He shocked me more than he hurt me.”

“I’ll get rid of them somehow, I swear.”

“No!” She hissed under her breath. “Don’t. You’ll stir up more trouble. I’m sure it was a one-time thing. I’ll just be more careful next time I take his dishes.”

It was not a one-time thing.

In the following days, America would come home with Canada from an errand to find Kaiya with a black eye or a cut or a big bruise on her cheek. After that, they tried to take Kaiya with them as often as possible.

The soldiers were the worst, but the personifications and girls started to learn their schedules, so they could avoid them, though ignoring them could be hard when Richard brought back a prostitute for the night.

Protests around Boston were constant and passionate, but the people that tried to kick soldiers out were arrested and always found guilty now that Britain was in charge of the courts.

“Maybe we should murder them in their sleep,” colonists would whisper back and forth, only slightly joking.

Having France over would have to wait since there was nowhere for him to sleep. Canada was very disappointed, but he didn’t complain.

France did. His letters always had a paragraph or two ranting about how unfair this was and that he would never treat a colony how England was treating him. America decided it would be best not to mention his track record with colonies.

England would be sailing back in a few weeks. The household residents had mixed feelings about that. Halona and Kaiya were excited, of course, not understanding the whole situation. Canada wasn’t _horribly_ bitter toward England, but he didn’t like the way he was treating his brother, making him very distrustful. America wanted to see him, but at the same time, he didn’t. With all that was going on, they were bound to have a very long talk at the minimum.

The soldiers didn’t know, so the house’s residents decided it was best not to tell them until it was too late. Perhaps, out of spite, America would have England tell them himself so that he would witness the kind of madness they had lived with for the past six months.

Either way, it would be a showdown. They just had to hold on.

*************

England opened the bag of mail and dumped it on the table. He sifted through it, hoping he’d find a letter from America. No such luck. Since November, when the Quartering Act had become a big deal, America hadn’t written him a single personal letter.

“At least he doesn’t have to live with anyone else,” England muttered.

Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted an envelope without any business markings. He pulled it out and scanned the return address. It was from France of all people.

He opened it up and scanned the letter, wincing at its contents. Mostly, it was full of France chewing him out for what he did to America. Nothing he said was anything England himself hadn’t thought before, though.

He tossed the letter aside and took some work-related ones with him to the couch. Above the crackling fireplace was England’s favorite portrait, the one that Italy painted of England and America walking down the street hand in hand and smiling. It made him feel guiltier, so he purposefully averted his gaze and got down to business.

Prussia was demanding compensation, Parliament was a wreck, and pretty much all of his people were angry about something or another. Some days, he missed life before he became an empire, the days when he was carefree, the days with his mother, Brittania.

“Nostalgia won’t help anything,” England told himself, refocusing on his work.

The hours crept by while the stack of completed work beside England grew, and the uncompleted pile shrunk. It was late when he finished, and he knew he should get ready for bed properly, but he’d been wearing comfortable clothes, and he was exhausted. So, he slipped off to sleep, still on the couch.

*************

America was the only one home aside from Ellis. Canada and Kaiya went on errands that they wouldn’t return from for hours, and Halona was at the bookshop. The other three soldiers were who-knows-where, but frankly, America didn’t care. He was just glad they were gone.

Ellis gave him the creeps, though. Fredrick was loud and brazen, but he was predictable. Richard was dumb and arrogant, but he wasn’t very dangerous. And Philip was a follower; he’d do whatever the others were doing. But Ellis? Ellis was just… unsettling.

So America went on a walk, not liking the idea of being in the house alone with Ellis. It was a long walk, and he had hoped that someone else would have come home by the time he returned, but alas, Ellis was the only one there.

“Welcome home, Alfie,” Ellis said. He was lounging on the couch, feet propped up, with glinting eyes when America came through the door.

He gritted his teeth. “Thank you.”

“How was your walk?”

“Fine,” was all he said. He grabbed a book, the closest book he could find, which happened to be on the migratory patterns of birds (Canada was truly the most boring person America had ever met) and sat down at the table in the seat furthest from the couch.

He kept his eyes glued to the page when Ellis took the seat across from him. “Are you interested in birds?”

“Yes.”

“Really? I didn’t peg you as the type.”

He shrugged.

“Alfie?”

“What?”

“I don’t think we’ve ever had a good, long chat,” Ellis noted, taking the book from his hands and laying it down on the table. “Indulge me. Where are you from?”

America could feel his heart hammering in his chest. “Here.”

“Boston?”

“Yes,” He lied.

“Ah. I’m from Manchester. Have you ever been there?”

“Yes.” He’d accompanied England there multiple times when he had meetings there if he was staying in London.

“It’s a beautiful town. The people are interesting, and there’s plenty of culture… Oi, are you listening?”

America looked up. He’d tried to keep his eyes down, but evidently, that wasn’t going to work. “Yes.”

“What did I just say?” Ellis challenged.

“You were talking about why you liked Manchester.”

“Huh. You were listening. Good.” He got up and took the seat next to America. “Have I ever told you that I liked your hair?”

America swallowed dryly. “I don’t think so.”

Ellis smiled, brushing some hair back behind America’s ear. “I should have. It’s a nice color.”

“Thank you.” Sweat was slicking his hands as he kept looking away, determined not to meet Ellis’ eyes.

A hand landed on his thigh, and he flinched in surprise.

Ellis laughed. “Someone’s jumpy.”

“Please move your hand.”

“Aww, don’t play hard to get.” It slid higher. “I don’t like games.”

America shoved his chair back and stood, trying to step away, but Ellis caught his wrist, holding it tight.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Ellis stood up, shoving America back up against a wall and dragging a finger down the line of his jaw.

“Let me go.”

“I don’t think I will, sugar.”

He pushed Ellis off him, using his super strength and making for the door, but just as his hand grabbed the handle, Ellis called, “I’ll kill Kaiya.”

America froze.

“That Kaiya girl? You may be able to get away from me, but I guarantee that she won’t. And you could leave, all of you. But you’d be arrested. Your brother and friends would rot in jail and probably die from smallpox there. Your choice.”

Nausea swam in America’s stomach as he turned back to face Ellis, who was sauntering forward like he owned the world. “You’re sick.”

“That’s not very nice.” Ellis took America’s chin in one hand, examining his face. “But I’ll let it slide, just this once, since you’re so pretty.”

His other hand gripped America’s hip and pushed him back against the wall.

“Please don’t do this.”

He laughed and unbuckled his belt, not even bothering to respond as his hands ventured lower. They felt like fire against America’s skin. Not the good kind. Not the warmth and comfort of England that finally let him breathe. No, each place that the pads of Ellis’s fingers touched hurt like he was being burned.

Ellis shoved America onto his knees and yanked his hair back to make him look at him. “Just relax; I promise that you’ll feel much better if you do.”

The door swung open. Kaiya and Canada stepped inside, laughing about something. Ellis was off of him in seconds, sitting back down on the couch and crossing his legs to hide his undone belt.

“Hey, Al,” Canada greeted, grinning.

America sighed in relief and gave a weak smile. “H- Hey. Did you get all the groceries?”

“Yeah. Kaiya and I are thinking about making a chicken pot pie for dinner tonight. How does that sound?”

“That sounds… great, Mattie. Yeah, that’d be great.”

************

The keys jingled as Halona unlocked the door to the bookshop. She shoved them back in her pocket and flipped the sign to ‘open.’

She had a lot of books to unpack, so she got started. Above, in what used to be her house, she could hear the footsteps of the soldiers that had invaded it. They tended to stay out of her shop, thankfully.

The door opened, and she smiled at the person that came inside. “Kaiya.”

“Hi.”

Since no soldiers were in the shop, she kissed her passionately, trying to put as much meaning into one of their rare moments of privacy as possible before they had to hide their relationship again.

Kaiya’s touch drifted to her hands, and laced their fingers together. “I love you so much.”

“I love you, too.” Halona kissed her again, this time softer. “I miss you so much.”

“Me too.”

“It’s so infuriating because sometimes you’re just so _damn beautiful,_ and I want to kiss you, but I can’t.”

Kaiya flushed and looked away shyly. “Thanks, I think.”

“But of course. How could I think otherwise?”

She pulled back. “Do you want some help unpacking? The last thing I want to do is leave you already.”

Halona smiled. “I’d love that.”

“What’d you order?” Kaiya slipped out of Halona’s arms and opened one of the crates. “Wow, that’s a lot of Bibles.”

“Well, it’s the best selling book. The crate next to it is full of Christopher Marlowe.”

“Oh, I love his work.”

Halona picked up a few Bibles and set them on the corner of the counter. “Can you put some Bibles on that shelf over there?”

“Sure.” Kaiya put them away where Halona had gestured. After, she cracked open another crate and gasped. “The Iliad! That’s my favorite.”

“I know. I reserved a copy for you when I placed the order.”

“That was so kind of you. Thanks, ‘Lona. They’ve got beautiful covers.”

She nodded. “I know. I figured some of the wealthier customers would pay more if I can convince them that they need one.”

Kaiya flipped through the pages, smiling softly. “I love it.”

“Good. Now come help me with this crate of Shakespeare.”

Thunderous footsteps came down the staircase as two of the six soldiers living in Halona’s house entered the shop. They smirked at the girls and made some rude comments, but they left.

“When will they go away?” Kaiya whispered.

Halona kissed her forehead and hugged her tight, glaring at the staircase despite it being empty. “Soon, Kaiya. If it gets too bad, we’ll go home.”

“But I don’t want to leave Matthew and Alfred. If we left, they’d be outnumbered. Right now, it’s four against four. But there will be twice as many of them as there are of us, and then what will happen?”

She sighed, running her thumb gingerly over a bruise on Kaiya’s jaw from two days ago. “I know you want to stay for them, but at some point, I may put my foot down. We need to be safe. It’s my job to keep you safe.”

Kaiya looked at the door to the shop, troubled. “Arthur is coming soon. It’ll be nice to have another friendly face around the house. It’ll make life easier, too.”

“Come on, don’t change the subject.”

“I’m sorry. I know you want to leave.”

“S’okay. If you want to wait, then we’ll wait. I’m just saying that eventually, we may need to make a difficult decision.”

Kaiya met Halona’s eyes, worry visible in her own. “I know. I just hope that it doesn’t come to that.”

*************

Ever since that day alone with Ellis, America had done his personal best to avoid the house altogether. Mail runs that used to take ten minutes now lasted half an hour, he chatted with Mr. Jenkins longer than was probably socially acceptable, and he got water frequently.

Ellis hadn’t said or done anything since, which was almost worse. America was constantly living in a state of fear, nerves on edge, even when none of the soldiers were home.

Canada shut a cupboard, and America nearly jumped out of his skin.

He furrowed his brow. “America? Are you okay?”

He laughed breathlessly. “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.”

Canada didn’t buy that for a second. He went over to the couch where America was seated and took the spot next to him. “Are you sure? Because we’re the only ones home. If there were ever a time to talk about something serious, it’d be now.”

“I’m good, really, Canada. I guess I’m just nervous about England coming back. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen him, and things have changed a lot.”

“So you flinch at every sound? Listen, if he’s not treating you well-”

“No, no, it’s not like that. I’m sorry, I just feel kind of stressed out. Hey, speaking of England, have you heard any news about his ship?”

It didn’t slip his notice that America had changed the subject, but Canada obliged. “They’ve been delayed by the weather.”

His face fell. “You’re kidding.”

“I’m not, unfortunately.”

America leaned against his brother, who wrapped his arms around him, rubbing his back gently. It was nice. Canada always smelled comforting, and he could make anyone feel better with just one hug.

“It’ll be alright. We just have to hold on. And I’m here for you if you ever need to talk.”

He smiled. “Thanks, Canada.”

“Don’t mention it.”

*************

Avoiding people wasn’t easy when you were living in the same space. America found that out very quickly- almost as quickly as Ellis figured out when he could get him alone.

He got lucky on the first day when Canada and Kaiya came in just in time.

He didn’t always get lucky.

Ellis planted chaste kisses down America’s neck, pausing to nibble as he went sometimes. America was frozen, pressed down on his bed (Ellis’s bed now), and squeezing his eyes shut as tightly as he could. It wasn’t real. This wasn’t happening. This was just a bad dream.

His attacker’s nails scraped over his ribs under his shirt, leaving pink lines in their wake. They abruptly dug in between the notches of his bones and held him in place while Ellis covered America’s mouth with his own. His lips were chapped and scratchy, making America cringe while Ellis’ tongue urged him to open his mouth.

Ever the sadist, Ellis’ teeth clamped down on America’s bottom lip hard enough to break the skin. America flinched and gasped in pain, giving Ellis the perfect opportunity to intrude further. His mouth tasted metallic when the blood on his lip slipped in with Ellis’s tongue. It made him want to spit it out, but Ellis still had a hold on his sides, and he was all too aware of the coarse rope coiled under the bed Ellis would use to restrain him if he struggled too much.

“You’re so pretty, Alfie,” Ellis murmured against his mouth, tongue tracing his bleeding lip to lap up the beads of blood. “You know, as lovely as you are, you were basically asking for it.” 

America squeezed his eyes shut, trying to hold back tears, but two slipped through when his eyelids clamped down tightly.

He chuckled at the sight of them. “Oh, Alfie. Stop acting like you hate it so much. You consented, remember?”

“No,” America croaked. “I didn’t.”

“Yes, you did. I gave you a choice. Kaiya’s life or your body. You easily chose the latter, love.”

The last word made him shed a few more tears. With his accent and the tenderness with which he said it, he sounded so much like England.

“Don’t call me that,” America hissed, gritting his teeth.

“Why not?” Ellis nipped at his exposed chest. “Does it turn you on, love?”

With his eyes shut, America could almost convince himself that Ellis wasn’t there. He could almost believe that the person touching him wasn’t his rapist. He could almost believe it was someone he loved, someone like England.

“Please,” he gasped in a quiet plea. For what, he wasn’t sure. For mercy? For someone to enter the house and stop Ellis in his tracks? To buy into his delusion? Because that was what it was- a delusion. But what else was he supposed to do?

So, slowly, he forced his muscles to relax. He was here out of his own free will. The hand now gripping his hip was England’s. When England got rough, it was just because America had teased him, goading him into this until he taught him a lesson. When he was gentle, it was because he loved him. Because that was England. Not Ellis.

England, not Ellis.

England, not Ellis.

Not Ellis.

Not Ellis.

Not Ellis.

*************

Kaiya pulled her needle through the linen she was sewing together. It was soon to be a nightshirt that would fetch a decent price.

Fredrick, Richard, and Philip were gone, off training. America and Canada had run out for fresh buckets of water. The sun was sinking, so soon, they’d need to boil it and let it cool for bathwater. Halona was still at the bookshop, meaning that Ellis was the only other one in the house.

He gave her weird vibes, but he was friendly enough. She was seated in the armchair, and he was on the couch, watching her work absentmindedly.

“You’re a wonderful seamstress.”

“Thank you. My mother taught me to sew.”

“Did you embroider that?” He pointed at a flower near the collar.

She nodded. “Do you like it?”

“It’s great. So, Kaiya, where exactly are you from?” He asked. Normally, if one of the soldiers asked a question like that, it was with a sneer and some racist joke, but he seemed genuinely interested. Maybe he only acted like that around his friends.

“I’m from the Oneida tribe. My village is just across the mountains past the Mohawk Valley. It’s beautiful there: forests, rivers, and sky as far as you can see. Most Oneida villages are further west; we’re an outlier.”

He smiled. “That sounds amazing.”

“It is.”

He got up and sat down next to her. “What are you making right now?”

“A nightshirt. Can you pass me a pin from that box?” She pointed to her supplies.

“Sure.” He sat back and watched her needle weave in and out of the seam she was making.

America and Canada returned, both holding buckets of water. The moment America saw them, he asked, “Where’s Halona?”

“The bookshop,” Ellis told him.

“I thought she came home around this time.”

Kaiya shrugged. “She must be running late. I’m sure she’ll be here in time for dinner.”

America nodded, setting the full buckets down and swapping them for empty ones. “Hey, Kaiya, if you’re not too busy, we could use some help. There’s a lot of water to get.”

“Coming.” She set her work down on the sitting room table and grabbed two handles, following them out the door with a smile at Ellis before she shut the door.

“Are you okay?” America asked.

“Yes? Why wouldn’t I be?”

He shrugged. “Just wondering.”

Kaiya gasped. “Look at the sunset!”

It was stunning and certainly deserving of her reaction. The sky was stained red, orange, and pink hues that bled into each other like runny paint. Just over the trees, the top of the sun could be seen, but it was mostly hidden as it dipped below the western horizon.

Canada said, “America sure does have beautiful sunsets.”

America smiled. “Canada does, too, from what I remember during my last visit. Kaiya, have you ever been that far north?”

She shook her head. “No. I’d love to go someday, though. I’ve heard good things about that area. They say hunting is plentiful, and the scenery is lovely.”

Canada scooped water from the well first, followed by Kaiya and America. It was hard to keep the water from sloshing out during the walk back, but they got home with most of it just as Halona was unlocking the door.

“Perfect timing,” she said, holding it open for them. “What’s for dinner?”

Kaiya nodded toward the fire, above which a turkey was roasting. “Turkey, peas, bread, and cod.”

“Yum!” She exclaimed, taking the buckets off Kaiya’s hands so that she could get the bird off the spit.

The other soldiers burst in, one knocking into Canada. Water spilled on the ground, and he groaned. “Now I have to go get more.”

If the soldiers noticed the mess they made, they didn’t acknowledge it. They just took their seats and demanded that the food come fast.

Ellis helped Kaiya slice the turkey since Canada went back for water. His eyes locked with America’s intentionally when he reached around her for a knife.

After dinner was bath time. The washroom was off the kitchen, so they didn’t have to carry the warmed water far from the fire to the bathtub.

As always, the soldiers went first. After each bath, they demanded new water (ridiculous), so the four were constantly fetching and warming water. Like a normal household, they didn’t change the bathwater between themselves. It wasn’t like they weren’t family, so they didn’t mind. It did get rather cold by the last bath, though.

America had heard rumors about some new developments taking place in Scotland with washrooms, but he didn’t have the fanciest of systems, unfortunately. He did have a rather advanced ventilation system, though. Smoke traveled through vents and exited out two chimneys, so he had fireplaces all over the house.

It was a shame there wasn’t one in the washroom.

Ellis stepped out of the bathroom, the last of the soldiers to bathe. He went upstairs, toweling off his wet hair while the four exchanged uncomfortable looks. No one wanted to go in right after the last soldier, even if they all had to use the same water, so technically, it didn’t matter.

“I’ll go first,” Canada volunteered. He did. America went next because the girls insisted that it was his house, so he should have the next one. Last were Kaiya and Halona, who had taken to bathing together to save time and heat.

Then they had to scoop the water back out and toss it out the window, which was not a fun chore, nor was it fast. It’d be very late by the time they were done. The soldiers would already be snoring upstairs, sound asleep when they were just getting into their makeshift beds.

Halona fell onto the couch, propping a pillow behind her head and holding out her arms for Kaiya, who brought a blanket and laid on top of her, tucking them both in while Halona pulled her in tight, kissing her temple.

“Covered?” She murmured.

Kaiya nodded as her eyelids fell shut.

Canada and America spread out blankets on the floor in front of the dying fireplace and collapsed. It had been a long day, but for some reason, sleep escaped them.

“Is anyone awake?” America whispered into the darkness after laying for what felt like an hour and a half.

“I am,” said Canada.

No response came from Halona, who was snoring a little, or from Kaiya, who was breathing softly.

“Canada, are we going to be okay?” It was a vulnerably and quietly asked question. With all that had happened, it felt like America’s reality was pressing in on him and crushing his lungs.

Canada sighed, taking his hand. “I don’t know.”

They were quiet for a while before Canada asked the question that had been tugging on his mind for the past few days. “America?”

“Hmmm?”

“Ellis- did he hurt you?”

No response.

“He did, didn’t he?”

More silence, followed by, “Are you scared?”

He sighed heavily, staring at the fading embers that popped in the fireplace once in a while and blowing on them to coax a little life back into the sparks. “Yes.”

“They’ll leave soon.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because there’s no way England will stand for this once he sees it first hand, especially if you talk to him about what has happened in the past half-year.” Canada pulled the blanket closer to his chin.

America’s eyes swam. “He did this. He… he did this to me.”

“He thought you’d get a pardon.”

“But he did this to my people. He did this to Kaiya and Halona. He’s the reason that others have been put in the same position I was in.” America tried to continue, saying, “He’s the reason that Ellis…” but his voice broke, and he turned over, facing Canada with tear-streaked cheeks just visible in the firelight.

“Did he…?” There was no need for clarification.

Weakly, he nodded. Canada’s breath hitched.

“I’m so sorry, ‘Mer. I’m not leaving you alone as long as they are here.”

“That won’t work. He said that he’d kill Kaiya. She doesn’t have the kind of strength that I do. If he attacked her, she wouldn’t be able to get away.”

“Then Kaiya won’t be alone, either. Or Halona. None of us, ever, will be alone.”

“And what if he gets his buddies in on it? With all four of them, he could take Kaiya and Halona from us and-”

Canada shook his head. “He won’t. That’d give up his leverage. It’s going to be okay. We just need to wait until England comes.”

America turned back over, staring numbly at the ashes. “Easier said than done.”

*************

England didn’t mean to, but he procrastinated on his packing until the same day that his ship left. Things had just been so busy that he forgot.

He wanted to see America again, badly. From the day he’d left, he missed him. The only thing he didn’t want to face was the inevitable confrontation they’d have. But he could smooth that over better in person. After all, he was the only one except Canada that could calm America when he was upset. Once that was out of the way, everything would be fine.

In order to reach the colonies, he had to travel by ship, which he was fond of. It reminded him of his pirating days in the 1500s and 1600s. The smell of the salty spray, the crash of the waves, the wind on his face- it was perfect.

He didn’t miss his ship, thankfully, though it was a close call. For the trip, he’d be on a boat called the HMS _Superior,_ one of the fastest in England’s massive fleet. It had quality quarters to make his stay comfortable and a solid desk for letter writing.

“I’m coming, America,” England said as they started drifting away from the dock. “I’m almost there.”


	6. Quartering

“Tyranny, like hell, is not easily conquered; yet we have this consolation with us, that the harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph.” -Thomas Paine

Canada’s plan went into effect immediately. He told the girls in the morning before the soldiers were up so that everyone was up to speed, and then it was time to make breakfast.

Just a little longer, they’d remind themselves. It will all be over soon.

America had a meeting with some of his delegates to discuss Parliamentary representation. Canada went with him. He almost wasn’t allowed in, but America was able to flag down one of the higher-ranking officials who knew his identity and explain what was happening. The man was happy to let Canada in once he understood and asked him a million questions about himself on the way in.

Kaiya went with Halona to the bookshop. They had a busy day- Halona helped customers with book selections while Kaiya operated the desk.

All four had agreed to meet at the bookshop for lunch and then buy food at the market. They all went to drop some off at the house for the soldiers, who were miffed that they didn’t get a home-cooked meal, but neither the personifications nor the girls cared. Halona and Kaiya went back to the shop while the brothers returned to the meeting, apologizing for being late coming back from their lunch break.

Things were going great until dinner. They suffered the usual insults and abuse, but things got worse when the soldiers insisted that they needed to finish faster. That meant that to avoid their wrath, they’d need to split up to accomplish all the tasks that had to be done.

Kaiya and Halona got loads of water, but America was making dinner by himself. Philip had demanded that Canada clean his room, upon which the others all added that they wanted theirs cleaned, too.

Carefully, America sliced the carrot on the cutting board into little pieces. He could feel Ellis’ eyes watching his every move. For once, he was glad that _all_ the soldiers were there.

By some miracle, they got through dinner and baths without incident.

The next day wasn’t as tricky, and when he lay down to sleep, America reminded himself that England would arrive soon. He repeated that in his mind like a mantra. It made him feel just a bit better to think of the soldiers leaving, of Kaiya and Halona being able to return home, and of sleeping in his own bedroom again. Mostly, he smiled when he envisioned himself and England tangled up in bed together, sleeping.

He wasn’t sure when England’s ship was arriving. All news of the _Superior_ he got from dockworkers, who were a particularly angry breed, so they didn’t say much.

So, every two hours, he would take quick walks down to the harbor to see if the ship had docked. Its mast finally appeared on the horizon, and America thought he might burst with happiness. It was infuriating how slowly it approached, but at long last, the ship docked, the gangplank dropped, and England started down it.

America dashed over to him, crushing him in a hug before he was even on solid ground.

England grinned, feeling a light airiness take over his mind. “I’ve missed you so much.”

“I’ve missed you, too.”

He shut his eyes and let himself melt into him for a moment, then reluctantly pushed America off to grab his bags and step onto the dock. The whole way to the house, America gushed about how much he had missed him- so much so that he completely forgot to tell England about the soldiers.

America unlocked the door and let England in first. The Brit stopped in the doorway, staring at the four crude soldiers around the kitchen table.

Kaiya broke away from the food preparation and ran over, crying, “Arthur!”

He accepted her hug while keeping his eyes on the soldiers, causing him to stumble, not anticipating the force of her embrace nor her presence. “Kaiya?”

“We’ve missed you so much!” She bubbled.

“It’s true. You were away way too long!” Halona scolded, hugging him, too.

Frederick watched the exchange with skepticism, and he scowled at England. “Hey, Alfred, who the fuck is this?”

“Arthur, my friend. He was away in London on business. I thought I told you he was coming home.” He lied, feigning confusion.

“The better question is, who are _you?”_ England demanded.

“Oh, look, boys, we’ve got another backtalker,” Richard laughed. Then, in a teasing tone, said- “Don’t make us beat it out of you, too.”

England’s eyes went wide with alarm. “Excuse me?”

“Hey! Hurry up on lunch, bitch!” Fredrick commanded as he got up to use the washroom.

Kaiya ran back to the kitchen, opening a jar of walnuts to mix into the food. “Sorry, Fredrick.”

Halona shot him a glare and went to help Kaiya while Canada smiled and held out a hand to shake. “Hello, Arthur.”

“Um, hello, Matthew. Wait, everyone, just slow down. What the hell is happening?”

“Arthur, we made you a bed beside the couch,” Halona said, pointing to the lump of blankets on the floor beside the other messy beds. “It’s warmer over there since the fireplace is so close.”

“And an eyesore,” Philip added.

England was utterly bewildered, not sure what to say, and still uncomprehending of what had happened while he was gone.

“Oy, the washroom is a mess. Water everywhere,” Fredrick told them on his way out of it. “Someone go clean it up.”

Canada sighed, grabbing a rag from one of the cupboards and heading into the untidy room. America followed behind him, intending to help, but Ellis caught his wrist. “Stay with us, Alfie. He can handle it on his own.”

America grimaced. “I should help him, he’s-”

“It wasn’t a request.” No one else would have noticed that, under the table, Ellis’s hand had come to rest on America’s inner thigh, but England was paying strict attention.

“Hey, what the fuck do you think you’re doing?” He demanded, seeing red.

Kaiya gasped and nearly dropped another dish. She shook her head in silent warning.

Ellis laughed, and his grip on America tightened, nails digging into his skin. “Problem?”

“Arthur, don’t,” Halona hissed.

He wasn’t sure what to do. This was all very unexpected. But he knew that he didn’t like Ellis’ hands where they were, so he marched right over to the table, wrenching his grip off of America. “Get your disgusting, filthy hands off of him.”

Frederick stood up, shoving England and laughing. “Oh, this is going to be fun.”

Kaiya raced to stand in front of England. “Please, sir, he didn’t know. He didn’t mean to offend you!”

Frederick grabbed her by the hair and slammed her against the closest wall, knocking her skull against the wood, causing her to yelp.

Halona dashed over and held her when she dropped to the floor at Fredrick’s release. “Kaiya? Hey, it’s okay, I’m here…”

England could hardly process what had just happened. There was no way that the soldier just hurt Kaiya. There was no way.

Canada ran out of the bathroom, looking like a frightened deer. “Whoa, okay, everyone, calm down!”

“Did you just fuckin’ tell us what to do?” Richard sneered from his seat, clamping an iron grip down on Canada’s wrist.

“N- No, I’m sorry. How about we get you lunch? Fredrick, how does that sound?”

Fredrick paused, considering, then shrugged. “Fine.”

He sat down at the table again, accepting his plate and eating with the other soldiers like nothing had happened while Canada scampered over to get the food for them. Kaiya got to her feet and helped him while Halona stood close to her protectively, and America went to the washroom to finish cleaning.

The soldiers were served first. Halona was just handing the last soldier, Philip, his food when America returned from the washroom to accept his food from Kaiya.

Canada handed England a plate. “Come on. We eat in the sitting room.”

They sat down, England still shook from all that had just happened. He put his plate on the coffee table, ignoring it and putting all of his attention on America. “Why are those men here?”

“Did you not hear about the Quartering Act?” Kaiya asked, tilting her head.

“Well, yes, I did, but Alfred, you have a pardon, don’t you?”

Halona shook her head. “He used to. It’s kind of a long story. Basically, some soldiers invaded Kaiya’s house first, so she came to live at my house, but then six took over mine, so we both came here. Then we got in trouble with the courts because we weren’t feeding the soldiers at our houses since we weren’t, you know, _there._ Alfred used the pardon to get Kaiya and me out of trouble so that we didn’t have to return to our houses alone. The judge didn’t fully recognize the authority of the pardon, so that was all we got. We couldn’t kick the soldiers out. Those four in the kitchen, Frederick, Philip, Ellis, and Richard, showed up after that when he didn’t have a pardon anymore, so we couldn’t make them leave.”

England barely trusted his voice. “How long have you lived with them? How long have they been here?”

“Ten months, roughly,” Canada answered. “They came at the very end of May last year.”

His face went white. “Oh my god. Why didn’t you write? Why didn’t you tell me what was happening? I could have gotten you another pardon!”

“They suspended our personal mail,” America answered. “They knew we were writing to someone across the sea that could get them kicked out because they overheard me talking about it with Halona, so they stopped us from reaching you. I’m sorry I never wrote to you; you must have thought I was angry or something. One time, I tried hiding a personal letter in a professional envelope, but Fredrick searched our mail, and then I tried putting one in with an actual business document, but the same thing happened. I’m really, really sorry, I just-”

“No. No, you have absolutely nothing to be sorry about. Nothing. I’m sorry. They’re leaving. I’m going to the governor’s house right now to get this fixed.” He stood and paused. “Come with me. All four of you. I don’t want you here by yourselves.”

“We can’t, or they’ll be angry. Just hurry back. If they get suspicious…” Canada trailed off.

England nodded. It made his stomach twist to do it, but he slipped out the front door, taking off down the street as fast as he could.

*************

England held up the pardon in Richard’s face, glaring daggers at the soldiers. “Get the fuck out.”

Frederick laughed humorlessly. “Funny.”

“In case you don’t recognize that seal, it belongs to the governor. And in case you’re illiterate, it pardons me, Alfred, Matthew, Kaiya, and Halona from the Quartering Act. It also says that you are leaving. Now.”

They exchanged looks until Richard took the paper from England, reading it over and making an aggravated sound. “He’s right.”

“Let me see that!” Frederick swiped it from his hands, scanning it. “What the hell?”

Ellis looked over his shoulder, scowling and telling Philip, “He’s not lying.”

“Well? Go on. Pack.” England commanded.

The soldiers got out of their seats angrily and went upstairs. He could hear drawers slamming and them swearing about giving up ‘their’ living quarters.

Philip came downstairs first, pushing past England coldly and waiting outside for the others. Richard left after shooting a few more racial insults at Halona. Frederick was the first to get physical, though. He shoved Canada to the ground, calling, “Ellis! Hurry up, or we’re leaving without you.”

England helped Canada get back on his feet but kept his gaze on Frederick. “Get out!”

“Whatever,” Frederick grumbled. He trudged out the door, boots dragging and cursing under his breath.

Ellis was last. He came downstairs and set his things down, strolling over to America, who was beside England. “I’ll miss you, Alfie.”

He pushed some hair back from America’s face sweetly with a smile that dripped malice. England smacked his hand away. “Touch him again, and I’ll kill you.”

Ellis paid him no mind. “I’ll see you again soon, love.”

“What do you mean?” America managed, inching closer to England.

He smirked. “I don’t know where I’ll be staying next, but I’ll make sure to visit this part of town when I can. Don’t worry, though. If I see you, I’ll be sure to talk to you, maybe take you back to wherever I’m staying if it’s night. It’s safer there. You never know who could be lurking in the alleys.” America tensed as Ellis rested a hand on his hip and leaned in close. “If you’re lucky, it’ll just be me.”

Again, England had to literally rip Ellis’s hands off America, but he wasn’t willing to play nice anymore. Despite Ellis’ struggling and protests, England dragged him out of the house and threw him out like the trash he was.

“Come back here or harass any of them again, and I’ll kill you,” England promised.

The door slammed, and suddenly, they were free.

Kaiya dissolved into tears, sitting down weakly on the couch. “They’re gone. They’re finally gone. Oh, god, they’re finally gone.”

Halona laughed breathlessly. “Yeah. They’re gone.”

Canada and America embraced, neither able to bite back the happy tears that came with the soldiers leaving.

“Told you it’d be okay,” Canada grinned.

Kaiya got up from the couch and crushed England in a hug, weeping and laughing in relief. “Thank you, Arthur; I can never thank you enough.”

He patted her back sadly. “You owe me no thanks. I can never apologize enough for what happened here.”

“Kaiya, come on, let’s get that cleaned up,” Halona said, gesturing to a cut on her forearm from when Fredrick hit her against the wall earlier. She led her through the study to the messy storage room to get bandages.

America went upstairs, followed by his brother and lover. Steeling his nerves, he pushed open his bedroom door. Every time he had been in his room since the invasion, it was against his will. Looking at it now was eerie. The sheets were a mess, and everything was disorganized, but nothing was broken, and his belongings all seemed to be there.

“We need to wash the sheets. All of them.” America decided. “I don’t want my bed to smell like Ellis.”

“It’s almost night,” England pointed out.

“I don’t care. They have to go.”

“Yes,” Halona agreed. England flinched, not realizing that the girls had come up the stairs. “Every last bit of them- it goes. Tonight.”

They split in different directions, Canada to his room across the hall from America’s, and the girls to the room beside Canada’s. The beds were stripped, every single piece of clothing (whether it was technically clean or not) was thrown into a pile at the base of the stairs, and all the linens were tossed with them.

Canada went to the well and got water. The four hardly needed to communicate. No one had to give directions; they all just knew what to do. England helped as much as possible, eventually sitting on the kitchen floor in front of a bowl of sudsy water, using a bar of soap and his hands to wash the fabrics.

It seemed excessive, but when England looked at their faces, he knew it must be done. Each had a haunted look, and he watched painfully as America scrubbed his pillowcase until his hands bled, determined to get out every trace of Ellis. Although, he’d never truly be gone.

They spent all night washing the fabrics. The clotheslines were overly full by morning, much to the annoyance of America’s neighbors. But they didn’t care.

Every single piece of furniture, every window, every counter, dish, item of silverware, the tub, the toilet, and the sink was washed beyond what was needed. Canada and Halona swept and mopped all the floors while America and Kaiya put everything back where it belonged. England swept out the fireplaces, looking sadly at the ground where, hours before, a thin blanket had been lying to serve as America and Canada’s bed.

Whenever they found an item that belonged to one of the soldiers, it was thrown in the fireplace, and they’d pause to watch it turn to ash before continuing with their work.

Finally, they all bathed individually, fetching brand new water between each bath and rubbing their skin until it was red and raw. Putting on new clothes, to them, felt like finally letting go of what had been plaguing them for so long.

They should have been exhausted by the time they reached dinner the next day, considering that they hadn’t once slept or eaten, but they weren’t, except for England. But he didn’t protest or complain at all. Something was healing in cleaning the house for the four that had suffered, he could see, and who was he to get in the way of that, especially considering this was partially his doing?

Everything eventually found its way back to its place, even though it took a long time for everything to dry. But it went back, and the stain of the soldiers on their house finally felt gone.

*************

“I’m so sorry,” England whispered for the thousandth time.

He and America were back in America’s (not Ellis’) bed. Making him promise to spare no details, he had America recount all that had happened since he left.

“England, I know. It’s okay.”

“It’s not. It’s not okay. It’s all my fault. Every one of Kaiya’s injuries was my fault. Every slur Halona was subjected to was my fault. Every time Canada had to endure their demands was my fault. Every time Ellis hurt you was my fault.”

America passed England another handkerchief. Countless used ones littered the bed and the floor, but honestly, America didn’t care. It was odd, but he liked the idea that the bed was dirty because of him and England, not because of one of the imposters that had shoved in here. It was like he had restored his mark on it.

“You didn’t know.”

“That doesn’t matter. Whether I knew or not, you all still suffered because of me.”

“They’re gone now.”

England laughed bitterly. “This is ridiculous. I should be the one telling you that; I should be taking care of you, but here you are, taking care of me.”

“I’m happy to do it.”

“It’s not fair to you, America. What else can I do? How can I help you?” England asked. “We could sue them. I’d win the case. They’d never rule against you if I testified, considering my rank. They could go to prison forever.”

America sighed. “But then I’d have to talk about it to an entire courtroom of people. I mean, I can barely manage to discuss it with you. It’s hard to talk to Canada or the girls, and they lived through it, too. Facing a judge? No way.”

England got off the bed, beginning to pace up and down the room. “There has to be something I can do.”

He opened his arms, gesturing for England to return. “You can come to bed. I’m tired, Iggy. Let’s just go to sleep.”

“Anything you want, America,” England promised, slipping under the covers and falling into his embrace. “I’m still so sorry.”

“Shhh, I know. I know.”

*************

“What do you mean you’re _not going to repeal the Quartering Act?”_ America shouted. With Canada, Kaiya, and Halona out on a walk, he could yell as much as he wanted.

England winced, running his hands through his hair. “I want to, I swear. But Parliament is insisting that it’s necessary to save money.”

“Britain, my people are suffering! They’re being harassed! They’re being beaten, abused, and raped left and right.”

He flinched at that, but he kept his gaze on the kitchen floor. “I know.”

“You know? And you have the nerve to sit there and tell me that you saving money is more important than that?”

“It’s not, but they won’t listen.”

America shook his head, hardly believing what he was hearing. “What happened to you being sorry? What happened to, ‘Anything you want, America?’ Well, I want them _out!_ Is that such an unreasonable demand?”

“No, of course, it’s not. I don’t think you understand. I can’t overrule Parliament. If they won’t repeal the act, then there’s nothing I can do.”

“What about the king? Can’t your precious king do something about it? Aren’t you friends? He might listen to you!”

“I already wrote to him about it, but he said that it was necessary.”

Tears swam in America’s eyes. “I thought you loved me more than this.”

England held up a finger in warning. “No. Don’t you dare. You know I do. You know I’d die for you. So don’t suggest-”

“You’re torturing my people.”

 _“Parliament_ is torturing your people!”

“You’re literally the fucking British Empire, so don’t give me that shit. This was your doing in the first place, so fix it!”

England looked like he would cry, too. “I know that, and I’m trying!”

“I can’t believe how stupid I am,” America spat, looking steadily out the window. His voice had fallen quiet as sorrow replaced anger.

“What?”

“I said, I can’t believe how stupid I am. Whenever one of them attacked Kaiya, I’d remind her that you were coming when I was helping her clean out injuries. April would arrive, and you would make them leave. Whenever one of them struck Halona or called her unrepeatable things, she’d say, ‘It’s okay. Arthur is coming.’ Canada would count down the days and let us know how close your arrival was every morning when we had to make them breakfast. And after that day with Ellis, I told myself that you would be here soon. You’d save me, and you’d repeal this horrible act.”

England collapsed into a chair, unable to meet his eyes or respond.

“I was so scared, Iggy,” America admitted, voice cracking. “I was trapped. Every night, when I lay down in front of the fireplace, I’d stare at it and cry. Every single fucking night, because all I could think about were his hands on me and the smell of his breath and how much I hated my own body because it felt contaminated. It didn’t feel like mine. It still doesn’t.”

“I don’t know what you want me to say, America. My hands are tied.”

“No!” He screamed suddenly, slamming his fist on the table. _“Mine_ were so I couldn’t push him off me.”

England paled.

“Iggy, I was helpless! Helpless and alone! For ten months, I was here, crying and begging Ellis to let me go, watching him lock the door. And where were you? Sleeping in your mansion in London, safe and signing off on who knows how many documents that would persecute me.”

“I never wanted this!”

He shook his head, holding up a hand to stop him and wiping his tears away. “I need a second.”

America went to the washroom, shutting the door and bending over the sink to throw up. The stress of it all was just too much. He placed his elbows on the rim of the basin and rested his head in his hands, fresh tears streaming down his cheeks.

Hesitantly, England knocked on the door. “America? Are you alright?”

When he didn’t receive an answer, England opened the door and stepped in, approaching America carefully, like he’d scare him away if he moved too fast.

“I’m fine,” America answered, sniffing and wiping his nose on his sleeve.

England looked at the vomit in the sink. “Why don’t you go lay down on the couch?”

America wanted to argue, but he felt light-headed, so he let England lead him to the couch and help him onto it. He lay in England’s arms, leaning back against his chest and trying to steady his breathing.

“I’ll write again, and I won’t stop until they change their mind,” England murmured, kissing his temple. “I promise.”

*************

Kaiya and Halona didn’t move out. Canada and America begged them to stay, and they obliged. The four of them had something deeper now that they had been to hell and back together. Only the others could truly understand the trauma they were left with, and sticking together made them feel less alone.

Canada would have to go home eventually, but he was able to convince Parliament to let him stay until just after Christmas.

The summer flipped by in a blur. They all kept close, and eventually, the pain of the all-encompassing scars left by the soldiers faded from a sharp stinging to a dull ache.

The Quartering Act was still very much active, but issues between England and America lessened. He knew that England was trying his best.

King George III’s birthday was on June 4th. In celebration, the Sons of Liberty erected what they called a ‘liberty pole’ to protest the government.

England himself ordered it cut down, which happened in early August, but another one was put in its place the very next day.

America told him to ignore it, that it wasn’t a big deal and that it was just a symbol of protest, but he wouldn’t listen, and eleven days later, that one was cut down, too.

France had his own troubles. A hurricane had struck Martinique, and she was in a bad state. She had been living in her own country, but they took her back to the motherland so that France could take care of her. He was distraught and didn’t write as much.

Sneaking letters from France to Canada was much more difficult now that England lived there, too, but the brothers managed, and Canada told the girls not to mention the letters, claiming that they were from a lover and he didn’t want England to know since he was so uptight. They laughed and were very agreeable, but they did tease him whenever England wasn’t around, which was annoying to him. But life was a thousand times better than it was before April.

“Halona, hurry up!” America called up the stairs. “The show is starting soon!”

She hurried down, pinning back part of an elaborate braid Kaiya had done that held her hair up. “Coming! Jesus.”

Kaiya put her cloak around her and fastened the button since Halona’s hands were busy. “You look beautiful.”

That was undebatable. Halona was in a tan dress that hugged her torso, buttons closing it down her front. The skirt was loose and easy to walk in, but it disappeared from view once the cloak was wrapped around her shoulders.

Halona flushed. “Thanks.”

England shooed everyone out the door, and they wove through the obstacles of the city. There was a play showing tonight at some theater America didn’t even know existed, but England wanted to see it. It ended up being a double date night, and they had great box seats. Canada was exhausted anyway and assured them that he didn’t at all mind them leaving.

The tickets were dealt with by England, and he led them to their box where they could sit close without prying eyes.

America barely paid attention to the show. He got bored and spent his time playing with England’s fingers and holding his hand. Halona and Kaiya had their hands entwined, too, but while Halona did fidget a lot, she still watched the show.

“England,” America whispered into his ear.

“What?” He whispered back.

“When is intermission?”

He sighed and checked his watch. “Ten minutes more, I believe.”

America huffed and leaned his head on England’s shoulder while he traced patterns on the back of his hand. A figure eight, then a star, another star, a heart…

The curtain closed, and a man not in costume stepped onto the stage. “We will now have a ten-minute intermission. Thank you for joining us!”

“Finally,” America groaned. “I’m hungry. Do you think they have food?”

“I’m sure they do,” England chuckled.

“I’ll get snacks for everyone,” Kaiya volunteered, “What do you guys want?”

England waved the question off. “I’m not hungry.”

“I’ll eat anything,” Halona and America said in unison.

She laughed. “Alright, I’ll be back soon.”

England looked at America with an expression he couldn’t quite read. “You’re bored, aren’t you?”

“What? No. This is a great show. I love...” He glanced at the program. “The Massacre at Paris by Christopher Marlowe I- wait, it’s about a massacre?”

“You don’t have to pretend. If you want to leave, I’ll go, too.” England had been doing this all the time since his arrival. He was as accommodating as he could be. Probably to ease his guilt, America suspected.

Halona frowned. “Kaiya’s been gone a long time, hasn’t she? I’m going to make sure she’s okay.”

She got up and speed-walked down the stairs to find her girlfriend.

“I want to tell them who we are,” America said suddenly.

“What?”

“We’ve known them for a few years, England, and they live with us. I think they deserve the truth. There’s never going to be a better time the longer we wait.”

“We shouldn’t get that attached. They’re human, darling. They’ll age and die before you, and I blink. You shouldn’t let yourself get so close to humans.”

“I’m already attached, so…”

He sighed, glancing at the stairs. “Is that really what you want?”

“Yes.”

“Alright, then. Do you want to tell them, like, when they come back, or-?”

“No, no, Canada should be present, don’t you think? Besides, they’ll have a lot of questions that we can’t answer in the few minutes of intermission we have left.”

He was about to respond when the girls came back, carrying snacks.

“Sorry, the line was super long.”

“Don’t worry about it. Thanks for the food.”

The show ended forty-five minutes later with a standing ovation. It took forever for people to mill out of the theater, but they managed. Night had fallen, and it was a long walk back. America found himself glancing at every alley, Ellis’ threat lingering in his mind even though he knew it was empty. Under the cover of night, he laced his fingers with England’s and stayed as close as possible.

Kaiya unlocked the door and let everyone in before relocking it and checking the windows. It was her ritual: every night, she locked the door, checked all the windows, rechecked the door, and then rechecked all the windows. It had only started after the soldiers left.

America knocked on Canada’s door gently.

“Come in.”

He did. “Hey, Canada. Um, England and I want to tell Kaiya and Halona about our identities.”

“Oh, wow.” He said, raising his eyebrows. “That was sudden. When?”

“Tonight.”

“I see.”

“You don’t like the idea, do you?” America asked, sitting down on the foot of the bed.

“No, no, I do. It’s just that I’m worried they’ll be angry. I mean, they’ve lived here for over half a year. I’m pretty sure that’s a significant amount of time for humans.”

“We’ll never know until we try.”

Canada nodded, but he looked very unsure. “Alright. I guess they deserve to know. They’re family now.”

America hopped off the bed. “Exactly. Come on.”

Canada followed his brother down the stairs, where England was snacking on an apple. “Where are the girls?”

“In the study.”

He went through the open sitting room and the door to the study. They were each in an armchair by the fireplace with books in their laps. Halona’s feet were propped up on the table while Kaiya’s were curled underneath her.

“Hey, boys.” Kaiya greeted, “Care to join us?”

America grinned sheepishly. “Actually, we need to talk.”


	7. Carriages

“My life shall be a continued proof of the unbounded affection of you.” -Alexander Hamilton

Halona slipped her bookmark in and shut her book. “Is something wrong?”

“Not exactly.”

Canada and England came in, pausing in the doorway before England sat in the chair in front of the desk, and Canada sat on the edge of the desk.

“We haven’t been completely honest with you,” America began. “And this is complicated and hard to explain, so just bear with us.”

Kaiya glanced between them. “Alfie, you’re worrying me. What is it?”

“Um. Okay, I’m just going to come right out and say it. There are personifications or manifestations, or whatever word you want to use for the countries, provinces, colonies, islands, and territories of the world. They tend to run higher up politics in their respective lands, but they’re not really in charge, and their identities are classified. They, their land, and their population are connected. Each affects the other. I’m one of those personifications, the one for these thirteen American colonies. So, um, my real name is America.”

He stopped, waiting to see their reactions. Awe, confusion, and anger were all expected, but he was not prepared for when Halona burst out laughing.

“What?” He asked.

“You! I don’t know what kind of practical joke that was, but if you thought I was going to fall for it, you have severely underestimated me. I’m not stupid, Alfred.”

“It’s not a joke. I can prove it to you. Stand up.”

Still laughing, Halona stumbled out of her chair. Kaiya looked bewildered and very unsure, which was much more understandable than Halona’s continuous laughter as she sat on Kaiya’s chair’s armrest.

America grabbed the back of Halona’s chair with two fingers and lifted it off the ground. Her laughter stopped. “What the hell? How did you do that?”

“Since we’re not human, we have extra strength. We also don’t die. Sort of.”

He set the chair down, and she went over to it, trying to lift one side of it, but it hardly budged. Her jaw dropped. “What in the world?”

“I’m so lost,” Kaiya admitted. “Wait, you’re not… so you’re… but you aren’t… so when… but then… What?”

“We’ve never told you much about our jobs because of this. It’s why we have so much influence in our governments, and we’re so careful with our mail.”

Halona was still staring at him like he’d grown a second head. “So you’re _literally_ the British Colonies of America or whatever? Actually?”

“Yes. Specifically, New Hampshire, Massachusetts, Connecticut, Rhode Island, New York, New Jersey, Pennsylvania, Delaware, Maryland, Virginia, North Carolina, South Carolina, and Georgia.”

“Slow down,” Kaiya begged. “You said _we_ haven’t been honest. So Matthew, Arthur, are you colonies?”

“I’m The Province Quebec,” Canada confessed. “I used to be officially named New France. But France always called me Canada, which I prefer.”

Halona sat down in her chair again. “This is so weird. Arthur, you’re a colony, too?”

England scoffed, looking slightly offended. “No. I’m England. I’m the British Empire.”

She nodded. “Oh. Right. Of course you are.”

“Wait, so you’re in charge of Alf- America, then, right?” Kaiya asked, baffled. “I thought you two were together, as in courting each other.”

“We are, but England is most certainly _not_ in charge of me,” America answered.

England hummed in vague agreement. “It’s complicated. Officially, am I in charge of him? Yes. But America listens to no one, and he’s his own person. I couldn't tell him what to do if I wanted to.”

“And you can’t die?”

“Not unless another personification killed us- then our empires and civilizations would slowly fall apart after we died. Also, if our lands or people are obliterated, we die. Or there’s this thing called fading when we’re weak, and our cultures are destined to decline, but it’s complicated.”

Kaiya’s jaw dropped. “No way.”

“Is there one of you for everywhere?” Halona asked.

“Well, there are no individual personifications for each of the Thirteen British American Colonies America listed,” Canada answered. “There’s no personification for Florida. And despite my land being divided into sections, I’m still just one person. But we’re both parts of the British Empire. Yet we stay ourselves, we don’t just disappear, and England doesn’t become the personification for our land, despite technically being part of him. Honestly, we’re not sure how it all works. We just know that it does.”

Halona rubbed her temples to try to get rid of a budding headache. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

“It’s supposed to be secret. We only tell humans when they have a high enough governmental or military ranking that would cause them to need to know or if we are very close to them personally.”

“We _live together.”_

“Right. Which is why we’re telling you now.”

Kaiya was still overwhelmed, but she said, “Thank you for telling us.”

America smiled weakly. “Yeah. You guys deserved the truth.”

************

Following England, America, and Canada’s confession, Kaiya and Halona would spontaneously ask them questions seemingly out of the blue. Everything ranging from, ‘Wait, what if there’s a big storm?’ to ‘How are you born?’

Some of their questions were answerable.

Most positively, winter had come, and the holidays were just around the corner. Granted, it was freezing out (though Canada said it was fine and would get the groceries without so much as a coat or cloak), but now that the soldiers were gone, poor River could come back inside. He loved napping beside the fire and was the most endearing dog America had ever met. Even England liked him, despite being a cat person.

Speaking of cats, Pilgrim was back to her usual self. She got along well with River but napped most hours of the day, typically in someone’s arms. At the moment, that someone was Kaiya.

“You know you can just put her down if you want,” Halona told her.

Kaiya looked horrified. “No! She’s sleeping!”

Halona rolled her eyes, laughing lightly and kissing her cheek. “Alright. Which ornament?” She held up two ornaments, one red and one blue.

“The blue one.”

Carefully, Halona hung it from a branch of the pine in America’s sitting room between the stairs and the door to the study. It was a cozy corner, perfect for the Christmas tree.

Canada strung up some tinsel and wrapped it around the tree. “It’s nice to be with you for Christmas. I can’t remember the last time we were together for a holiday.”

America smiled sadly. “Yeah, me neither. But we’re together now.”

England draped some beads over a thin branch, weaving them through the tree. They dazzled in the light coming from the candle in the nearest dark window. “America, darling, could you hand me another strand?”

“Sure.” America grabbed one from the box full of reds and yellows.

“Thank you.”

Halona helped him put it up while Canada and America looked through the ornaments. Canada held up a snowflake made of birch twigs. “How about this one?”

“Yes! Put that one on the front.”

“I can’t reach most of the spots left on the tree,” Canada complained.

America took it from him carefully. “I’ve got it.”

Kaiya was humming something under her breath that sounded like Hark! The Herald Angels Sing while she stroked Pilgrim’s back. Pilgrim stretched and rolled onto her back, purring and encouraging Kaiya to scratch her white stomach. When Kaiya obliged, she curled her pink toes and almost looked like she was smiling. You know, if cats could smile.

Neither of the girls believed in Christianity; they were firm in their beliefs from their tribe, but then again, neither did America, Canada, or England. Christmas, to them, was much more about family and spending time together than it was about religion.

America fumbled with an ornament, but England caught it before he could drop it. “Whoa, careful.”

He smiled sheepishly. “Thanks.”

River padded into the room. Earlier, he was nosing one of his toys around the kitchen, but now he lay down lazily in front of the fireplace with a yawn.

“Awww, River is so cute,” Kaiya cooed.

Halona glanced over at him. “Yeah, he is. It smells like your gingerbread cookies are done, sweetheart.”

She groaned and carefully set Pilgrim down on the couch. In response, the feline made an irritated meow, disgruntled about being moved. Kaiya went to the oven and took the cookie tray out with rags to protect her skin from the hot pan.

“Was I right?” Halona asked.

“Yes. As soon as they cool, we can frost them.” She came back, getting an ornament and hanging it on a low branch.

America scooted a chair underneath a horizontal beam supporting the second floor and climbed up on top of it. “Honey, can you hand me a hammer and nail?”

“Here,” England said, handing him the items. “What are you doing?”

He began nailing, intentionally not answering England’s question. Once the nail was in, he passed the hammer back to England and took some ribbon, tying it around the nail.

“America, what are you doing?” England repeated.

America produced a sprig of mistletoe from his pocket and tied the ribbon around it so that it dangled from above before hopping down and resting his hands on England’s waist. “Finding more excuses to kiss you.” Smiling, America pressed their lips together briefly.

“You never need an excuse to do that, you know,” England said teasingly, pulling him back in by the collar.

“England, where did you put the wreath?” Halona asked.

“In the box by the ottoman.”

She broke the seal on the box and pulled out a beautiful wreath with dried cranberries winding through it. Opening the door, she hung the wreath on the hook and quickly shut it so as not to let the cold blow in.

Kaiya went back to check on the cookies. “I think they’re cool enough to frost now.”

America scrambled over, bouncing from toe to toe. He’d been waiting on this all day. “Can I just frost it however I want?”

“Yes, but don’t take all the frosting.”

“I won’t.” America used the butter knife to spread vanilla-flavored icing over the gingerbread man.

The others soon joined him. England was cautious with his, sure to make the icing even, and each fragment of candy was placed with precision to make faces.

Kaiya’s were pretty. She used the icing and candies to make designs over the cookies that repeated themselves from head to toe.

Halona’s had more frosting, but it was still within reason. Her candies were a bit more sparse at the top than the bottom, but overall, they were nice cookies.

Canada’s cookies were minimal and neat. He opted not to use any candy on his and instead made swirling designs in the vanilla icing.

America used the rest of the frosting. It was globbed on top of the cookie and topped with a pile of sugary candies that would rain down whenever you touched it.

Canada wrinkled his nose. “You’re going to eat those?”

“Yes! They look _so_ good…”

“There is way too much frosting on those,” Canada said. “You’ll throw up.”

“No, I won’t.”

Half an hour later, he was bent over the sink basin while Canada rolled his eyes and held his cravat out of the way. “I told you!”

“S- Shut up!”

England chuckled, shaking his head. “He never learns.”

“Nope.”

“I can hear you!”

*************

Kaiya sighed in contentment, leaning back against Halona in the warm bathwater. “You know, living here is really nice.”

Halona smiled, wrapping her arms around Kaiya’s torso. “Yep.”

“We’re going to have to leave eventually.”

“I know.”

“But I don’t want to leave.”

“I know.” She grabbed the cup from the rim of the tub and scooped up some water. “Tilt your head back.”

Kaiya did as she was told. “I don’t want to ask Alf- America to let us stay longer. He’s already done so much.”

Halona poured the water over Kaiya’s hair, careful not to get any in her eyes. “I could ask him if you wanted.”

“No. I don’t want to inconvenience him. But it’ll be lonely not to live with you anymore.”

Halona scrubbed some lye soap into Kaiya’s hair, massaging her scalp and the back of her neck as she went. “Maybe we don’t have to live separately.”

“What do you mean?”

“Maybe you could move in with me.” She scooped up water again and rinsed Kaiya’s hair, cupping her hand at her forehead to keep the water away from her face.

“Really?”

“Well, the soldiers are gone. And I can’t leave my house because I run the bookshop, so we couldn’t live at yours. If you don’t want to-”

She turned around, craning her neck to face her. “No, I want to. I’d love that, ‘Lona.”

Halona grinned and pressed a kiss to her lips before grabbing the soap bar to lather her hands and rub Kaiya’s back, digging her thumbs into her muscles to relax them. “Good. Do you want to sell your house or keep it?”

“Sell it. We’ll need the money. These are scarce times, and we won’t have the cushion of America’s finances.”

Halona dragged a washcloth across her back to wipe the soap away. “Alright. It’s a nice house; I’m sure it will sell for a fair price.”

“Yeah.”

They fell quiet for a while, and Halona pulled Kaiya back into her arms. Finally, Kaiya spoke. “Are you upset they didn’t tell us?”

There was no need to ask for clarification. “I used to be. I wish they had trusted us sooner. But they told us now, I guess.”

More quiet until- “If America and Canada had extra strength… why didn’t they stop the soldiers from hurting us?”

Halona’s grip tightened. “I don’t know.”

“Maybe to keep their secret. But that would mean they chose to hide the truth over our safety.”

“It was probably because they couldn’t stir up trouble. That’d make it worse for all of us. Or maybe the soldiers somehow used you and me against them.”

Her voice became more fragile. “They could have stopped them.”

“I know.”

A pause. “Turn around,” Kaiya directed, grabbing the lye soap.

Halona kissed her warm, damp cheek once before doing as told.

************

“We are _not_ playing Carriages. That game is stupid, and New Woods is way better,” England huffed, crossing his arms.

Carriages was a board game they made up for their newly dubbed, ‘Family Game Nights.’ In the game, the goal was to create as many roads as possible for your carriages to travel on according to randomly drawn route cards naming your destinations. Each player collected colored cards that matched the colors of roads on a map of Eastern North America and must use specific numbers of cards to purchase roads. There were three options when it was your turn. You can either take a card from the queue of five cards that everyone could see, request up to two random cards from the deck, or purchase a road.

New Woods was about gathering resources to create a new colony and was England’s favorite. (Unsurprisingly).

“We played that last time,” Halona retorted.

“Yeah, because it’s better.”

“Let’s take a vote!” America suggested. “All in favor of playing New Woods?”

England was the only one to raise his hand.

“And all in favor of Carriages?”

Everyone else raised their hands. America shrugged. “Sorry, Iggy, you’re out-voted.”

“Voting is stupid.”

Kaiya groaned. “Can someone please just go get the game?”

Canada got up from the kitchen table and went to the storage room to get the board game off the shelves. He returned, dropping the box loudly on the table. Then he grabbed the napkins to move them to the counter, out of the way, but he accidentally dropped them on the floor.

“Canada!” Halona groaned.

“Well, I didn’t mean to!”

They cleaned the napkins up together and tossed them in the laundry bin. Then came the problem of deciding who had to be the banker.

“I’m always the banker!” Kaiya whined.

“That’s because you’re good at it,” said Halona in an attempt to persuade her to fill the role.

“America, you never play the banker. You do it.”

“I hate being the banker!”

“Oh my god, I’ll do it!” England cried, taking the box and sorting the items. He passed small bags of colored wooden strips (‘roads’) to each player to lay on the areas they purchased.

America frowned. “I don’t want to be green. I want to be red.”

“I’m already red!” Halona declared, clutching her bag tightly.

Kaiya frowned. “England, I’m yellow. Want to trade?”

He shook his head. “I like blue.”

“Just play with those pieces, America,” Canada said tiredly. “I want to get this game over with so we can work on the jigsaw puzzle.”

The jigsaw puzzle was an invention that was sweeping the world and entertaining rich and poor alike. Canada liked it a lot and had purchased a brand new one that he was eager to get started on.

England raised a brow, silently counting the road pieces in Canada’s possession. “Canada, you have an extra piece.”

He dropped it to the floor, glaring at England. “Now, I don’t.”

“You can’t just throw pieces on the floor!”

“Watch me.”

Kaiya held up her hands. “Okay, okay, everyone, calm down. How about I get some biscuits, and we can eat those while we play?”

“They’re gone. America ate them all.” Halona told her.

England sighed. “I’ll add it to the grocery list.”

The game finally started after an argument about who got to go first. America won and drew two rainbow-colored wild cards that could be used to purchase any road, showing them off with a smirk.

“You’re not supposed to show us your cards,” England told him.

“I don’t care. I just want you to see my wild cards.” At his next turn, he drew yet another wild card.

River pawed at the door, whining about being let outside. Kaiya rolled her eyes. “River, we just let you out two minutes ago!”

England drew a wild card but said nothing.

Canada got up to get some apples from the pantry but knocked a bowl to the ground.

“Canada! Careful!”

Miraculously, it wasn’t broken. After this, there was a fight over whether America had to ask for two random cards specifically or whether he could just tell England to give them to him each turn.

This was followed by America flaunting two more wild cards, and then he left momentarily for reasons unknown.

“Can I just skip him?” England asked when it was his turn, and he wasn’t there.

Kaiya shook her head.

“Please? He’s being an arse.”

“That’s not allowed. Come on, just give him his cards.”

America returned from the storage room. Pinned to his chest was a piece of paper reading, ‘Two Randoms Please.’

River whined again.

“There. Now I can ask for them without asking.”

“You’re a moron,” Canada said, deadpan.

America drew two more wild cards and fanned himself with his vast collection of cards. “Do you want me to donate some wilds to you guys? I like helping the poor.”

“We don’t want your fucking charity,” Halona hissed venomously, taking the game much more seriously than she needed to.

At this point, America was the only one that hadn’t purchased any roads. On the other hand, he did have the majority of the deck. River scratched at the door.

“America! Stop hoarding cards!”

“No.”

A bark from River.

England got up, saying to River, “Fine! Fine, you can go out!” He stormed over, opening the door for him. The dog sat down on the stoop, not moving and not using the bathroom, blinking back at him.

England shut the door and returned to find that there were officially no cards left in the deck to be drawn. “America, you have almost all the cards. You have to buy roads so that your cards can go back in circulation.”

“Yeah, the game isn’t fun when you take all the cards,” Kaiya griped.

He flicked a road piece at her that she returned, but he finally purchased some road, reluctantly handing over four green cards to England.

“This game isn’t very geographically accurate,” Canada noticed. He pointed at the territory that America’s road had gone through, connecting Montreal and Ottowa. “There’s a river right along there. A road couldn’t be built there.”

“You’re the one that drew the map,” Kaiya responded.

“I’ll take that road from New Haven to Trenton,” Canada said, handing over some black cards and changing the subject.

England flipped through them. “Hey, this is only five cards! You need six for that track.”

“Canada, stop cheating!” Kaiya reprimanded.

Canada gave him a sixth black card, grumbling some excuse about miscounting. After England took a blue and pink card from the queue, the blue was replaced with a wild card.

It was America’s turn, and he reached for it, but England stopped him. “Sorry, darling, your sign says you wanted two random cards.”

“What? No! That’s not fair!”

“You asked for the random cards,” Canada pointed out. “You should get two random cards.”

Kaiya sat back in her chair. “Let’s just stop playing. This isn’t fun anymore.”

“Was it ever?” Halona grumbled.

England slammed a hand down on the table. “NO. WE’RE FINISHING THIS GAME BECAUSE IT’S FUN AND WE LOVE EACH OTHER. NO ONE IS GETTING OUT OF OUR FUN FAMILY GAME NIGHT.”

Canada’s glass of water nearly fell off the table, but Kaiya caught it in the nick of time. Halona burst out laughing as England tried to calm down. Through fits of giggles, she said, “I thought you hated Carriages.”

“I don’t hate it. Now go. It’s your turn.”

“No, America still hasn’t gotten any cards. Give him his two random cards.”

“No! I want the wild.”

Canada put his head in his hands. “Here we go again.”

“Shh!” America hushed him.

“I hate it when you shhh me!”

“SHHHHH!”

Kaiya rubbed her temples, feeling a headache forming. “Just give him the wild, and let’s move on.”

England scowled, handing over the rainbow-colored card that could purchase any roads. “Fine. Halona, I’m guessing you want the greens?”

“Yes.” She’d been collecting them for a while.

He passed her the two from the queue and replaced them with reds. Canada played, then England, and it was back to America, who took a road in Halona’s path just to block her road and make her go around.

More arguing. The cards in the queue never changed. They were almost all white cards, which were useless to the players.

“I completed a route!” Kaiya exclaimed, earning twenty-two points. “Finally.”

“Are there even any more wild cards left in the deck?” Halona asked as if she never heard Kaiya. “I bet there aren’t.”

“I’m sure there are,” America retorted.

“Yeah? How do you know?”

He huffed and shuffled his cards around. “Because I have nine wild cards, and there are fourteen in the deck.”

“But you already used five to buy roads, so they’re in the discard pile.”

England rolled his eyes. “I’ll just reshuffle them.”

“Wait. Let America buy some roads first.”

“Fine. You want me to get rid of my wilds? Here.” He threw six down on the board. “I’m buying that six-card road.”

England scooped the cards up and reshuffled them so that there was a possibility of others getting wild cards drawn.

Pawing came from the door.

Halona groaned. “Who’s going to let River in?”

“Not me. I let him out.” England stated coolly. “He’s your dog. You let him in.”

She huffed. “He’s just going to want to go back out again the second I let him in. I’m going to ignore him.”

“Fine. Kaiya, it’s your turn.”

“I’ll take one for the team and take those two whites from the queue.”

“Thank god,” Canada exclaimed, “we need new cards up there.”

England handed her the cards she asked for and took the top two from the deck, putting them in their places. The ones he drew were two more whites, and Canada almost flipped the board.

“I want two random cards,” America told England when it was his turn to go again. Upon receiving them, he said, “I think you’re purposefully not giving me wilds. You’re cheating.”

“No, I’m not.” He was.

“I don’t like any of my destination cards,” Kaiya announced.

“That makes two of us,” Canada grumbled.

“Can I have a new one?”

England shook his head. “You only get new destination cards when you complete one.”

“But I hate mine.”

“Sorry, I can’t give you one until you complete a trip. But after that, you can have up to three destination cards to choose from.”

“I don’t think that’s right.”

“It is,” England insisted, trying to ignore River scratching at the door.

“Are you sure?”

He sighed. “You know what? Just take one. Even though it’s against our rules.” He passed her a destination card.

She flipped it over. “Hmmm… I don’t like this one either.”

“Oh my god, Kaiya, you’re not even supposed to get the card!”

Canada shoved some cards in England’s hand. “I’m buying a road, and we’re done with this argument. Halona, I can’t reach. Can you put four of my pieces on that road from Providence to Boston?”

England gave him some new destination cards to pick from, but he didn’t like them. “All three of these are physically impossible with the number of pieces I have left.”

“That’s unfortunate for you.”

“Come on, England, that’s not fair.”

“Those are the rules.”

He frowned, examining his cards again. His face lit up. “Wait, I can do this one!”

“Great. England, it’s your turn,” America told him.

They went around the table again, but they got hung up at England’s turn when it was debated whether or not he was cheating.

“You’re not giving me any wild cards; I just know it!” America said.

“That’s rubbish! I don’t need to cheat to win.”

“It’s not about winning, though, is it? It’s just about annoying me. Come on, stop cheating!”

England would have replied with a witty remark, but Canada had run out of patience. “Stop it! Stop fighting! Let’s just get this game over with so that Kaiya and I can go work on the puzzle!”

Mumbling about the game's injustice, America watched England purchase a road that he needed for his destination. He shrieked abruptly.

England cringed. “You sound like a banshee!”

“I needed that road!”

“Well, so did I!”

More clawing could be heard at the front door from River, who wanted inside severely. It wasn’t freezing, but he was impatient. Following this, Halona got on a streak of lucky destination cards that she had already happened to complete, therefore giving her points and even more destination cards to choose from.

“You’re cheating, too!” America falsely accused.

“Am not!”

“Are too!”

River started barking. England scowled. “Someone let him inside!”

Kaiya got up and trudged over to the door to let River in. He bounded through with mud on his paws that got all over the wooden floors.

“I don’t even care,” America said. “I’ll just clean it later. Kaiya, it’s your turn.”

When it came back to Halona, she bought a road, leaving her with one piece left. They began scrambling to purchase roads before the game ended to get more points. It was a wreck.

“You can’t do that!” Halona complained. “Once I get to one piece, that’s when everyone takes their final turns.”

“No, it’s when you’re out of pieces,” Kaiya said offhandedly. She bought some roads that she’d been saving for at least ten minutes to complete a destination card. “Eight more points for me! I completed a destination card from Plymouth to Annapolis!”

She was given three more destination cards to choose from, and so was Canada since England forgot to provide him with a new set of cards when he completed his last one.

England took some roads down south, America snagged some in the middle colonies, and then Halona played her last piece, meaning that everyone got one final turn. Kaiya completed a card for nine points, and Canada reached a long stretch of road to boost his total points at the end. England went, and then it was America’s turn.

“You already took your last turn,” Halona protested.

“No, I didn’t. You miscounted.”

“You shouldn’t even be getting this many chances! If I’m at one piece, the last rotation begins!”

“It’s when you’re out of pieces.”

“No, it’s not! You’re trying to make me lose!”

America glared at her. “Canada, get our rule book.”

He did as he was told, flipping through the pages to the section marked, ‘Final Rotation.’ “It says, ‘When a player is left with zero, one, or two pieces, the final rotation begins, meaning that each other player gets to take one last turn. PS, that’s a stupid rule, signed, Halona.’”

“Ha! See!”

“Fine, but we’ve always played this way. Just…I’ll skip my last turn, how about that? Will that keep the peace?”

England began counting pieces and concluded that America had the longest road, meaning that he was awarded the ‘longest road’ card, giving him an additional ten points and the winning title.

“Great. You win. Great.” Halona said, leaning back in her chair. “It was still unfair.”

“Halona, we’ve always played like this! You can’t be angry that we played it the way we do. You’ve won because of our destination card rules before. You can’t be angry when they don’t serve you.”

She didn’t reply.

America started sorting the pieces by color. “Well, that was so fucking fun with all the yelling.”

“And whose fault is that?” Canada asked.

“I was just playing how I like playing!”

“I’m not playing this game again until we switch to the rulebook’s rules. It’s not fair like this,” Halona declared.

England threw up his hands. “Oh my god, Halona, you cannot freak out at the end of the game because you lost!”

“When we made the game, we all agreed to the rulebook, and the rulebook says-” Canada started.

Kaiya interrupted. “No. Stop. We’re done. You’re done. We’re all done. Now, where is the ribbon to tie the cardholders?”

“We used to have it, but America lost it,” Kaiya informed her.

They finished packing up the game and shut the lid when Halona picked up the spare game piece that Canada had dropped earlier, meaning they had to unpack the game and put it in before repacking it all again, but eventually, it was all cleaned up.

Canada started up the stairs but stopped when Kaiya called, “Wait, are you not going to work on the puzzle with me?”

He shook his head. “Not tonight.” And with that, he was gone, returning to his bedroom across from America and England’s.

Kaiya sighed, running a hand through her hair and heading to her room. She hated conflict. They didn’t fight often, but when the household members did argue, it was chaotic.

At least the game was over.


	8. The Superior

“Heaven preserve you and shower its choicest blessings upon you. Love me I conjure you.” -Alexander Hamilton

Game night was over, and everyone was back to normal the next morning at breakfast, the competition of the night before forgotten. England had made bacon when America begged him to, and Canada had whipped up some pancakes.

Canada left a few days later. His country needed him back, and he had already been away too long. Kaiya made him promise to write often before giving him a crushing, tearful hug and letting him go.

With Canada gone, the house felt colder. America missed him deeply and was sad when the smell of his brother faded away.

New Year’s Day came and went, too, and the year 1767 began.

Kaiya had put her house up for sale. She had multiple offers so far but hadn’t chosen one yet, deciding to hold out for more money.

England had been a constant for America. Amidst so much change, England stayed. Or, at least, America thought he would stay.

It was with regret that England admitted he’d need to go back home come February. America, unwilling to be alone, declared that when February came, he’d go with England.

Halona and Kaiya took that news reasonably well. Both were disappointed, but they would have one another once they moved to Halona’s house.

They still had a month, though, and they made the most of it, sticking together and doing things like taking walks and working. Kaiya and Halona liked helping England and America out when they could, and the assistance was much appreciated.

America’s correspondence with France was more frequent now that he was once again a medium for him and Canada.

Time flipped by, and soon February hit, meaning that America and England’s departure was nye, and they stood on the dock in the cold air while the ship boarded.

Halona held America tight, determined not to feel sad. “Do you know when you’re going to be back?”

“No, but it won’t be too long.”

She sighed. “Don’t forget that time is different for us than you. Don’t keep us waiting forever, or I’ll rip your head off.”

America gave her one last squeeze before stepping back. “I won’t. Promise.”

Kaiya hugged him next while Halona switched her embrace to England. “I’ll miss you so much, ‘Mer.”

“I’ll miss you, too.”

“Don’t forget to write,” she told him firmly. “Or I’ll get on a ship and go over there just to yell at you.”

He laughed. “Alright. Bye. I love you guys.”

“Love you, too,” they replied in unison. They’d become family over the time they spent together, and America felt like he was leaving sisters.

England took America’s hand, giving it a squeeze. “Ready?”

America smiled, nudging him playfully. “To spend weeks in a stateroom all to ourselves with beautiful ocean views? Of course.”

He flushed, rolling his eyes and heading up the gangplank, trunks in each of his hands. America gave one last goodbye before following England up onto the deck.

Never one to settle for anything less than what he believed he deserved, England had made sure that they were traveling on the HMS _Superior,_ a beautiful, large, and fast ship. It was the same one that he had taken on his last journey to see America.

America didn’t like waiting on the formalities to end. Apparently, on high caliber ships, the captains ensured that they had all their passengers on board before departing, which took a long time. Then England got into a conversation with some Earl. He seemed to like him, giving him a few compliments before America finally convinced him to find their room.

“Are you and the earl friends?”

England scoffed. “Goodness, no. I loathe him.”

“Oh.”

That was the thing about British people. Sometimes it was tough to tell if they liked someone or not. They would compliment them and act like their friend well to their face, then turn around and cuss them out. It was hard for America to tell the difference between sincerity and insincerity.

They were given a large room by shipping standards with a sizable bed, large window, desk, table, armchair, two candles, and a lamp.

“Oh, this is nice,” America said upon entry, setting his cases down at the foot of the bed.

England shut the door behind them and flipped the lock. “I suppose.”

America went over, dragging his fingers down the glass pane and sinking onto the window seat. Land could still be seen in the distance, and if he squinted, he could make out Boston, but it was getting further and further, fading out of view.

England didn’t seem to notice. He plucked a grape from a complimentary bowl of fruit left on the table and popped it in his mouth. “There’s a formal banquet tonight that the captain is hosting. All high-standing people on board will be attending, which includes us. So you best be ready by six.”

“Do I _have_ to go?” America complained. “I hate fancy dinners.”

“Yes. And why would you hate a banquet? I’d have thought a table full of food was just what you’d be excited for.”

“Yes, but I’ll have to dress up, and everyone will be talking about posh stuff I don’t know anything about, and I’ll be bored and lonely.”

“No, you won’t. I’m going, too.”

“But you always get caught up in a conversation with this dutchess and that lord, and soon enough, I’m all by myself wanting to go home.”

England sighed, walking over to stand in front of him and brush a hand through America’s hair. “I promise I’ll talk to you tonight.”

America was not convinced. “But Iggy...”

“Tell you what- you go to dinner and don’t call any Parliament members asses to their faces, and I’ll be sure to pay attention to you, too. Plus, when we come back, I’ll give you _even more_ of my attention.” A suggestive smirk crossed his face as he carded his fingers through America’s hair, stopping to tug gently at the nape of his neck- something he knew America was a sucker for.

He leaned into the touch. “Deal.”

“Splendid. Now, I have work to do until dinner, so do you want to join me?”

America nodded. He needed England or Canada or someone around when he worked to keep him company and on track; otherwise, he wouldn’t get anything done.

England popped open his trunk and pulled out a leather folder, setting it down on the table and sitting down in one of the wooden chairs. America took the one opposite of him, beginning to sort through his papers.

It wasn’t anything exciting. The most intriguing document was a letter from Prussia asking how he was.

Eventually, it was all too boring, and not even England could convince him to stay. He went up to the deck to watch the waves and breathe in the salty air.

The sun was low in the western sky as the afternoon wore on. Its light sparkled off the water, too bright to look at directly but beautiful in one’s peripheral vision.

Even though she rarely spent time with him, America found himself thinking about Pilgrim. She was staying with Kaiya and Halona until his return, and he missed her already. Sure, England had a fluffy, light grey cat in London named Elizabeth (for the queen he had adored so much), but it wouldn’t be the same.

And he missed Canada, who seemed despondent in every letter he’d sent since he left. Poor Canada was living all alone, making him the first of the victims during the soldiers’ occupation to do so. He didn’t like it much.

He missed Kaiya, too: her loving smile, her warm hugs, how she always knew just what to say, and the sound of her footsteps on the staircase. What wouldn't he give to have her beside him, assuring him that he was making the right choice and easing his mind?

He even missed Halona, who could be prickly at times. Bold, outspoken, fearless Halona with her quick wit, snappy remarks, and biting jokes was occupying his mind, too. If she were aboard the _Superior_ with him, he’d never be bored. He could practically hear her making sarcastic comments under her breath at the soon to begin banquet. She’d probably steal some cookies and smuggle them back to their rooms, too.

America couldn’t help but smile at the thought. It’d be so nice to have them all here. Besides, Halona wanted to travel desperately. If only she could have come with, but she had a bookshop to run.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” said England, strolling up beside him and startling him out of his thoughts. “Travel may be a curse, but I have to admit, the view almost makes it worth it.”

“Yeah. It doesn’t matter how many ships I sail on; the sheer length of the ocean always baffles me. To look out and see nothing but water and sky… it’s almost unreal.”

England nodded. “It sometimes makes me miss my days on the sea.”

“Really?”

“Well, I don’t miss the food. The food was terrible. I don’t miss the blazing heat in summer or the stench of the hull. Mostly, I don’t miss being the person I once was. That version of me… I hate it.”

“Why?”

“Because I wasn’t a good person. I was cruel and relentless and feared. That’s not what I want anymore. At least, not by those I care about. Spain and France better be scared of me.”

It was hard to imagine England as a pirate (though England would be quick to correct him, stating that he was a privateer, not a pirate). That was before America knew him. Days before England were muddy for America. He remembered them, sure, but not clearly. He remembered his mother, the personification of Native America. She was beautiful and loving, singing old tribal songs to get him and Canada to fall asleep under starry skies when he was little.

At the time, he didn’t know that he and Canada’s appearances were a dark omen for the future. She did, though, which he realized when he was older. She was fully aware of what their arrival meant- that there would soon be new settlers and new civilizations that would likely threaten her own or even lead to her death. Yet she loved them unconditionally, securing strong morals in them from a young age to hold onto when they inevitably would be taken away from her.

He could remember her teaching him about nature in all its forms. There were faint memories of different tribes that she represented and the free, unrestrained energy that coursed through them that he found addicting. His favorite days were ones with the nomadic tribes in the plains. Although, that was so long ago that he wasn’t sure if those were real memories or just a dream.

But there were things he knew were true. Things like how she somehow smelled like woodsmoke, earth, and rain all at the same time, or the sound of the music of the pipes the chieftain played, or that he pet wild animals that were drawn to her like moths to a flame. They were calm in her presence, and he had possessed the same trait before England.

America had always been drawn to the settlements along the eastern coast. He would often find himself heading in that direction without ever realizing that he had moved. But his mother wanted to keep him away from the European influence as much as she could. That was when she started to get sick.

She always told him to be careful of the new people, that the other manifestations and nations may not always be as kind to him as she was. But she also said that she would let him join them one day and that once that day came, they could be great allies. At the time, he’d wanted nothing more than to fill his role as an embodiment of a civilization, not actually knowing what it meant. If he could go back in time and tell himself one thing, it would be to treasure the moments he had with his mother and Canada because once the Europeans got involved, he and Canada were separated and not unified again for over a hundred years.

The first time he had met England was in the early 17th century. Jamestown, the first permanent English colony in the New World, had been thriving well and expanding. England and his government were excited to continue their work in populating the area, and they sent England on a ship to search for America.

According to Sweden, there was a manifestation of this new civilization, though his claims were unconfirmed. For the British, it was crucial that they found him to protect and secure him. After all, many other world powers were scrambling to seize land in the New World. If England didn’t locate him first, no one knows what could have happened to him.

One day he had been in the woods, carrying a deer he found cute back to his mother when England happened upon him. He had assumed England was one of the new settlers from the land he represented. After all, aside from him and Canada, the only people with light skin around the area were the settlers.

But England saw his strength and immediately understood who he was. England had approached carefully, explaining who he was and saying that he wanted him to come with him so that he could keep him safe. America belonged with him, he had said, because they were connected.

Not knowing much better, he had agreed but told him that he didn’t want to leave his mother and brother. This concern seemed to startle England, who hadn’t known that America had a twin, meaning that there would be two different establishments in the near future; otherwise, Native America wouldn’t have had two sons.

England assured him that he would come back for Canada and was almost going to leave with him when his mother had shown up.

He remembered her pushing him back and standing protectively in front of him, bow drawn tight, and saying, “I won’t let you take him. Not yet,” and “America, honey, you need to go,” while England pointed his musket at her in warning.

Following her instructions, America had darted off into the woods, not knowing what happened in his absence. All he knew was that England had found him a second time and taken him with him, saying that Native America had agreed to let America go to his own lands. He’d believed him.

He wasn’t sure he believed him now.

England had reformed him quickly, trading his moccasins for boots, cutting his unruly hair, and taking his feathered clothes to give him cotton jackets, ‘like a proper gentleman.’

He taught him more refined English (though he already spoke the language thanks to his identity), the history of Europe, math, sciences, and all the things England deemed necessary for his new colony to know. As the new culture pressed in on him, he felt the influence of his mother slipping away.

And America? He let it happen. His new goal was to please England, to be the best damn colony he’d ever seen, and to live up to all the high expectations that had been placed on him.

Much to his dismay, he didn’t see Canada again for a long, long time. England told him that another nation had taken him and told him all about France and how terrible he was until America had started to cry, unable to stand the idea of his brother in the hands of such a nation, and England had to calm him down.

Soon, he learned how over-dramatic England was about his rivalry with France. He decided that Canada was likely alright, which was confirmed when he finally saw him nearly a century later when he’d become friends with France.

That was a long time ago, though, and something he rarely dwelt on lest it crush him with the weight of it all. It’d be impossible to find his mother, and, truth be told, he was afraid that if she saw him again, she wouldn’t recognize him as being the same boy she raised.

He wasn’t sure if his mother was even still alive.

But sometimes, if he was quiet, he could still hear his mother’s whispers in the wind, singing a lullaby in a language he’d been told to forget.

“America!”

He snapped out of his trance, blinking and clearing the fog in his mind to look at England, who was staring at him with concern. “What?”

“You’re crying.”

America lifted a hand to his face and touched his cheek, feeling salty tears against his skin. He hadn’t even noticed that he’d been crying. “Oh. Sorry.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I just got lost in thought.”

His mother was a sensitive subject. There was a part of him that worried that England knew what happened to her. He was, after all, the one that had faced her that day, the last day he’d ever seen his mother.

Being a nation, if he had shot her, she would have died, meaning that the Native American tribes would begin to fall apart. Ever since that day, the white settlers had been pressing further and further west, fighting more and more tribes. Perhaps England had shot her, and these were the effects. But America didn’t want to ask. He didn’t know what he would do if the answer were yes. 

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m alright. The banquet, we’re going to be late.” The sun had slid into the sea by now as day gave into night.

England didn’t look convinced. “I guess.”

“Well, come on, then,” America said, walking away from the side of the ship and heading toward their quarters. England followed him, keeping a careful eye on him in case he started crying again, but he didn’t. He just changed into formal clothes, combed his hair, and quietly went with England to the banquet.

He never once complained, much to England’s surprise. It was a welcome change, but a peculiar one, too.

“Mr. Kirkland, good to see you!” Cried a jovial man that clapped him on the back. “How are you?” 

“Brilliant. And you?”

“Very well, very well. And you must be Mr. Jones,” the man said, turning to America and offering his hand.

America shook it politely. “Yes, sir.”

“You live in the colonies, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“My, that must be terrible,” he laughed, “people there are rowdy. How do you manage with all those yanks stirring up trouble?”

England felt dread crash down on him. Great. Now America would get angry and pick a fight in the middle of a high-class dinner, effectively humiliating him in front of all these influential people. But to his great surprise, America said nothing at all.

“I should go find my colleagues. It was nice catching up with you, Mr. Kirkland. I hope we will play some cards before docking.”

“Certainly. Goodbye.”

He waved and sauntered off into the crowd while England examined America. “Are you alright?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I don’t know. You were upset earlier, and you’re not acting like yourself. I’m worried about you.”

America sighed, giving a weak smile. “I’m just hungry. How much longer until we get to eat?”

“Only a few more minutes.”

A few minutes turned out to be nearly half an hour, but America didn’t whine about it at all. When it was dinner time, he made pleasant conversation with everyone that spoke to him, keeping them talking about themselves as much as possible. People liked talking about themselves, meaning that he could avoid saying much about himself once he got them on a spree of stories about their lives.

Being the highest-ranking person on the ship, England had a seat to the captain’s right, who, according to custom, would sit at the head of the table. Due to his connection to England, America was next to him, listening to their conversation about the navy.

The food was delicious, and he ate plenty of pheasants, mashed potatoes, and vegetables. England’s chair was closer than usual, and he kept his leg against America’s, even resting his hand on America's knee beneath the tablecloth for a while.

“When’s dessert?” America asked him, mind always on the food.

“Probably not for another twenty minutes or so. Why? Do you want dessert now?”

He nodded. “That’s okay, though.”

England frowned and flagged down the head waiter, who hurried over. “How may I help you, sir?”

“When does the dessert course begin?”

“Half an hour, sir.”

“Start it now.”

The man nodded and signaled to a few waiters. The only one that could override a command from England was the captain, but that would have been both extremely rude and unnecessary, so he did not, and the servants obediently followed instructions.

“Why did you do that?” America asked.

“You said you wanted dessert, didn’t you?” England replied.

“Oh. Thank you.”

A waiter pushed the dessert cart over to them, starting with the captain and serving him a slice of apple pie. He then went to England. “Would you like dessert, sir?”

“Yes, some bread and butter pudding, if you would.”

He served the dessert onto a dish and set it down beside England before asking America if he’d like anything.

“A slice of cheesecake,” he answered. “A sizable slice, please.”

The waiter smiled and cut the cake, taking a large chunk out for America. “There you go, sir. Have a nice night.”

“Thank you.”

The waiter moved on, and America dug in, forking a large piece into his mouth. “Oh, that’s really good.”

England smiled, taking America’s hand under the cover of the tablecloth and giving it a squeeze. “Good. Dinner’s almost over, by the way, maybe another half hour. I know you want to head back to the room.”

He smiled. “Thank goodness.”

His estimate was spot on. The guests began retiring for the night around ten, splitting off into couples and small groups. As soon as it was socially acceptable to do so, England dismissed himself, beckoning for America to follow him out of the dining area. The vessel was massive, and America had no idea where he was going. He knew England traveled on this ship a lot, but he still was impressed that he didn’t get lost and could lead them straight back to their room.

The Brit unlocked the door and let them in, closing and relocking it behind them once they were inside. “Well, that was dreadfully boring.”

“I thought you loved stuff like that.”

“In the right company, but you and the captain are the only people on this ship I like,” he said, shrugging off his coat and kicking off his shoes.

“Ah.”

England, now in his nightshirt, started undoing the buttons of America’s coat to help him out of it. “You’ve seemed down since we left.”

“I miss home.”

“Already?”

He nodded, not making eye contact when England got him out of his uncomfortable accessories. “What if something happens to the girls while we’re away?”

“Like what?” England asked, handing America his nightshirt.

He pulled it on. “I don’t know. But I don’t like leaving them there by themselves.”

“Trust me, they can handle themselves,” England chuckled, pulling America onto the bed to curl up together.

“I know. But what about Pilgrim?”

England waved off the concern. “She’s fine. Kaiya will take great care of her, and as much as Halona complains, she likes Pilgrim, too. And she likes how happy Kaiya is with her around even more. Your biggest concern should be that they’ll spoil her too much.”

“You’re right.”

He smirked and leaned down, pressing kisses to America’s throat. “Good. Now, I promised you some quality time tonight.”

America shook his head, burrowing into the covers. “Another time. I’m sleepy.”

“Alright, darling.” England began stroking his hair soothingly and planting kisses on his face. America relaxed into him. Maybe Boston was far away, but he was safe and warm in England’s arms, held carefully and cherished.

It didn’t take long for him to slip into a dreamless sleep.

England smiled down at him lovingly. He couldn’t help it- America looked beautiful in the moonlight. His face was ethereal, washed in beauty and the softness of the night. His chest rose and fell evenly in slow, steady breaths, easing England’s always restless mind and quieting his worries.

There had been so many bad things happening lately, so many reasons to despair. But this was perfect. England could have spent the rest of his immortal life there, staring down at America’s tranquil expression, listening to the waves, feeling the gentle rocking of the ship, and thinking about all the reasons he loved him.

And there were so, so many reasons. Where would England even start?

Maybe his smile. Every time America smiled, England couldn't help but feel uplifted and like anything was possible. He could be down in the deepest of depression slumps, but if America flashed him that bright, radiant grin, he’d be on cloud nine.

Or maybe he should start with his kindness. America was the most compassionate person England had ever met, aside from Canada. He would do anything for his friends and family and go out of his way to make others feel better. One time, England had offhandedly mentioned that he was craving apple pie while working. America left, collected all the ingredients, went to a friend's house a quarter of an hour away to bake it, and returned home just to surprise him.

Perhaps he should start with America’s passion. If there was one thing to be said about America, it was that he never did anything he wanted to do without enthusiasm. When he had opinions, he defended them. When he had concerns, he dedicated himself to resolving them. And when he had intentions, he followed through with them. Even when his passion was at odds with England, he still found himself admiring America’s spirit.

Possibly at his strength. America had weathered terrible storms, storms that would have put out anyone else’s light. But no matter how many times he was knocked down, America would get back up again.

His love. That would be an excellent place to start. He loved so deeply, so completely, that it was probably unhealthy for him at times. They may fight, but England knew America would do anything for him. Not that he would, but if England had sincerely asked America to carve out his own heart and give it to him, he probably would. His undying devotion was admirable, and though it was one of the reasons England loved him, he had been trying to get America to value himself more lately. It wasn’t right for him to kill himself for everyone else around him.

Or maybe at the light touches, the softness of his lips, and the comfort of his embrace. All of those were things England loved about him, too.

Picking the first thing to put on a theoretical list of reasons England loved America was impossible because there were just too many, and he was reminded of it on that midnight in February, holding America in his arms and stroking his hair.


	9. London

“I would give the world to be able to tell you all I feel and all I wish, but consult your own heart and you will know mine.” -Alexander Hamilton

Turns out, there’s not much to do on a ship in the middle of the ocean. America and England had to develop lots of ways to entertain themselves once they finished the work they brought with them and their books.

They played cards sometimes, but America had a tendency to bleed his cards, making the game too easy. Checkers was another game they played, but the problem with that was that England always won, frustrating America and discouraging him from playing another round.

Neither were good artists, so doodling didn’t work, either. Leaning over the railing of the deck genuinely was nice, but it wasn’t possible at all times. It rained more often than one would expect, meaning that America would collapse dramatically on the window seat and watch the rain roll down the glass until England convinced him to get up and stop being dramatic.

They’d never been so well rested, though. Sleeping in, taking naps, and lounging about whenever they pleased had had a positive effect on them.

The captain was the only other person on the ship they knew at the start. They met a few more people, but they were stuck up and didn’t seem like the sort you’d want to spend your free time with.

Sex was always an option, and they did plenty of that to fill the time, but one can only partake in such activities so many times before becoming thoroughly exhausted.

Chess was fun sometimes. America had vastly improved since they played so frequently, but no matter how many matches they played, England always won. Every. Single. Time.

America moved his pawn two spaces.

“That was a bad idea,” England told him, moving his bishop to capture the said pawn.

“Well, I didn’t know what else to do. I couldn’t move that pawn, or you’d take it with yours. I couldn’t move my knight, or you’d take it with your bishop. I couldn’t move my king, or I’d be in checkmate. I have literally no good options.”

England pointed at a pawn to the far left. “You could have moved that pawn forward.”

“Dammit. I could have.”

He laughed. “It’s alright. Just do that this time.”

Grumbling about the unfairness of the perfectly fair game, America moved his pawn forward one space, just for England to capture it with his rook.

America gasped. “You tricked me!”

“You’re easy to trick.”

“That was mean.”

He rolled his eyes playfully. “Have I hurt your feelings?”

“No!” America huffed, moving a pawn forward. As expected, England moved his queen back four spaces. They went back and forth quickly, America capturing two pawns and England getting into position for an attack America knew was coming but couldn’t identify. “What’re you up to?”

“Me? Nothing,” England said, feigning innocence.

America narrowed his eyes at him and scooted his queen forward a space to defend his king in case of a sneak attack. England’s rook took a big jump to the right, followed by various pieces moving around the board, seemingly without reason.

England furrowed his brow. “You made a good trap.”

He glanced down at the board. He couldn’t see the supposed trap he’d unintentionally made, but he nodded. “Yep. You’re screwed.”

England scooted his queen right into the line of fire of America’s queen. Grinning, he took England’s queen just to have his own queen taken by a bishop.

“I can’t believe you fell for that,” England chided. “You need to think ahead.”

America crossed his arms indignantly. “You’re not playing fair.”

“Yes, I am. Just take your time. Study the board, then make your move.” England instructed.

He did, taking a moment to think about all the possible moves England could make before moving a knight.

England sighed. “Check.”

Swearing under his breath, America moved his king up a space to be surrounded by pawns, protecting it from attacks. “You suck.”

“You’re building a wall around your king. Now tell me who sucks.”

England had already taken twelve of his pieces, whereas he had only captured eight of England’s. There was hardly anything he could do, so he relocated his king to a spot beside it and returned it to its original place on his next turn. Each time he needed to go, he flipped between the two locations.

“Really, America?”

“Iggy, I physically can't do anything else without you taking my king.”

He was right, but it was irritating. Eventually, England arranged each of his pieces to corner America’s king. “Checkmate.”

“Fine. You win. Again. Who could have seen that one coming?”

“Aww, darling, don’t feel bad. I’ve been playing this my whole life, on a board and in real life. You’ll get better. Look at how far you’ve come in just two weeks.”

America put the pieces back in place and got up from the table. “What do you want to do now?”

“Play another game?”

“We just played five.”

England leaned back in his chair, crossing his legs. “Well, then, what do you want to do?”

“Dock.”

He laughed. “I know; me too. Only a week left.”

America rolled onto the cushioned window seat and sighed theatrically. “I think I’m going to die on this stupid ship. I’m so bored.”

England got up to sit down beside him and pull America forward by the thighs so that they sat close enough that they could hear each other’s breathing. “You’re so dramatic.”

“No, I’m not.”

“It’s okay. I think it’s cute,” England said, pecking him on the lips.

America leaned forward and rested his head on England’s shoulder, looking out the window at the churning sea and gray sky. “I love you.”

“I love you, too. Just one more week.”

“One more week.”

*************

America had never been happier to walk around than on the day they made port.

Having his feet back on dry land was odd, though. It took half a day for him to be fully oriented. He felt like he was still on the ship, and not having movement under him was weird.

They docked in Northern Somerset, where they were greeted by an expensive-looking stagecoach England’s parliament had sent for him right away. The footman took their trunks, and they climbed inside, drawing the curtains shut behind them. It was early March and still reasonably cool, so it kept the heat in the carriage.

It was a four to five-day ride to London that America didn’t enjoy. If he felt cooped up on the _Superior,_ it was nothing compared to the small interior of the stagecoach.

He made it, though, only stating that their confinements were killing him seven times. For America, that was a success.

Making a brief stop at one of England’s neighbor’s houses was necessary so that he could collect his cat, Elizabeth. She was a very quiet and passive cat with long, fluffy light grey fur that enjoyed naps in window sills and following you around the house.

When they arrived home, the footman unloaded their trunks for them while England unlocked the door, Elizabeth in his arms. America took their belongings inside, and the coach pulled away, horse hooves clicking against the cobblestone streets.

“I forgot how… _gray_ London is,” America remarked, nudging the door shut.

England set Elizabeth down. “Yes, well, I like it.”

“I do, too. Just didn’t remember until now.” America kicked his shoes off beside the door and headed up the stairs with his luggage to unpack.

England rolled his eyes, putting the shoes away on the shoe rack beside the door, getting his things, and following with Elizabeth diligently remaining at his side, purring and rubbing against his ankles.

It was a large house with a library to the foyer's left and a parlor to the right. A grand staircase branching off in two directions was dead ahead, each one creating an arched doorway into other rooms of the house, the kitchen to the left and dining room to the right. Behind the dining room was the storage room, though its entrance was in the back right corner of the kitchen. Behind the kitchen were the bathroom and pantry, all very neat and tastefully decorated.

Upstairs was just as lovely with a landing at the top of the staircase that had a rail to look down over, an English billiards room, bathroom, two guest rooms, England’s bedroom, some closets, and a music room.

There was no shortage of space in England’s house, to say the least. But the best part was the smell. Like always, it smelled like England- a blend of Earl Grey tea, rain, and grass, with a touch of mint.

When in England’s bedroom, America popped open the lock on his trunk and began hanging up his clothes in the large closet. The left side held all of the ones England left behind, and the right was half empty since America had taken 50% of his clothes when he last left London.

England began unpacking as well, organizing his possessions and folding his socks to place in the top drawer of the vanity. “America, honey?”

“Yeah?” He called from the closet.

“We’ve got a lot of work that piled up during our trip. Me, especially. I was wondering if you’d be willing to work together.”

“Um, yes? We always work together,” America said, making a puzzled expression by scrunching up his face. He came out of the closet and began loading books onto his nightstand.

“Right. Sorry, I’m just tired. Travel takes it out of me.”

America shrugged and put away his last few items. “You done?”

“Almost. I’ll be down in a moment,” England responded.

He nodded, leaving their bedroom and heading down the stairs and into the library. There was a table near the back with chairs and benches, one of which America collapsed on and winced at the giant stack of papers. This was going to be hell.

England joined him after making a cup of tea and tore open his first envelope. “Ha, serves him right!”

“What?”

“Spain took over Les Îles Malouines. He renamed her Las Islas Malvinas.”

“You mean France lost another colony?”

The smile on England’s face lessened. “Yes, I suppose he did. You needn't worry, though. Spain will take good care of her.”

“I don’t know. Spain doesn’t always treat his colonies well. I mean, there’s talk of his government banning Jesuits, and they’re trying to coax Romano to do so as well.”

“Well, there’s nothing we can do. France and I had an agreement for our people to coexist there, and the same will be true of Spain.”

America rested his chin on his hand. “We could go save her.”

England raised a brow. “You want me to conquer more land? And start another colony? Aren’t you always saying that my ambition isn’t good for me and that I shouldn’t keep taking over various places?”

“Malouines is nice. I met her once. She’s sweet, and if Spain pushes her around, she won’t have the means to fight back.”

“She’s half his colony now. She shouldn’t be fighting back.”

“But what if he mistreats her?”

“You’re acting like Spain is some kind of monster. He’s not the brutal superpower he once was ever since Queen Elizabeth defeated his armada,” England said, referencing when the English Queen had victoriously pushed back the previously unbeatable Spanish armada. It had been a big moment for both of them. She was England’s favorite ruler, though he never would admit to having a favorite.

“I know that, but he still doesn’t take care of his colonies very much. He just exploits them. You make sure we’re okay and genuinely care about some of us.”

England smiled a bit at the indirect compliment. “You’re right about that. But the last thing I need is another war. My debt needs to be paid off before I do anything else. I promise you that I’ll make sure she’s okay, though.”

That seemed like the most England was willing to say at the time, so America stopped pushing the matter. “How’s Parliament?”

“The Chancellor of the Exchequer, Charles Townshend, is pressing for more taxes. Oh, and apparently, he’s already gotten some things through the system while I was unavailable.”

“Things like what?” America asked, alarmed.

“One moment, I’m not finished reading,” England said, eyes darting across the page that would update him on the most recent goings-on in his country. “Christ…”

“What?”

“You’re not going to like this.”

America, feeling like he’d burst in worry and anticipation, exclaimed, “Tell me! What does it say?”

“He got five acts approved… shit.”

“Read it!”

He looked up America guiltily. “The first is called the Revenue Act. It’s taxing more things and allowing soldiers to search homes and cargo whenever they please.”

“But that’s not fair! I- nevermind. Just read the second,” he said, trying to remain calm.

“The Indemnity Act. It reduces taxes on the East India Company. They’ve been going under since the smuggling of Dutch tea became more common and cheap. So tea from them will be more affordable.”

He nodded, gesturing for him to continue.

“The Commissioners of Customs Act. There will be officials present in Boston now to regulate imports and exports to put a stop to all the illegal trade.”

America didn’t like that one much, either, but he had to admit that it wasn’t unfair. “Go on.”

“Next is the Vice-Admiralty Court Act. New rules regarding the judicial system and smugglers. Power is transferring to Royal courts and renewing the concept of judges getting 5% of the goods.”

“I thought you already did all that.”

“Yes, but it was set to expire. This will restore it.”

“Okay, that was only four. What’s the fifth?” So far, it hadn’t been that bad. Sure, it wasn’t favorable, but there wasn’t as much injustice as had come in the past.

England ran a hand through his hair. “I’m so sorry, America.”

“England, read it!”

“It’s called the New York Restraining Act.”

That didn’t sound good. “Restraining?”

“Yes. It is suspending New York’s assembly and governor from passing any new bills until they agree to comply with the Quartering Act.”

New York had stubbornly defended themselves, refusing to follow the outrageous law. Now, though, this would force them into submission.

America could feel hot anger in his very bones. He hated the laws passed, but there was none he hated more than the Quartering Act.

He stood up, reminding himself that England hadn’t had a say in these, but if he stayed much longer, he was afraid he’d take his anger out on him. “I’m going to go get a glass of water.”

“I could get it for you,” England offered.

“No, I’m fine.” He stalked out of the library, trying to even his breathing. To be punished for not allowing strangers into their home? There was no way around it- it was an injustice.

The glasses were in the cupboards, so he retrieved one and ladled some water into it, gulping it down. His racing pulse slowed while he returned to the library, setting the glass on the table and sitting down.

“I think I can fight the Restraining Act,” England said, “It’s extreme enough that I can point out the negative moral implications. I’ll fix this.”

“Has word already reached New York that it got through Parliament?”

“Probably.”

“Then the leaders will comply so that they don’t lose power before the new law is enacted. It’s already too late.”

He was right. That was precisely what was happening across the sea, where New York residents were now forced to live with soldiers. England knew it, too, but he didn’t know what else to say to comfort America and ease his pain.

“Do you want to keep working, or do you need a break?”

“I’m fine.”

“Are you sure? If you wanted to go out or something, I’d be more than willing to-”

“I said, I’m fine, Iggy. I just want to get this paperwork done so I can go take a nap or something.” 

Worry clouding his eyes, England studied his face. “Alright. Here, I’ll help you so you can finish faster.”

February fell into March, March fell into April, April fell into May, and May fell into June. The world was eventful, as always. In Spain and the Kingdom of Naples, Jesuits were being oppressed and deported, a war in Asia ended, and Muslims were being harassed across Europe. Relevant to America and England, though, firmer boundaries were agreed on between New York and the Native areas, and an explorer of England’s had found some new islands in the Pacific that became part of the empire.

It wasn’t eventful in their home, though. They’d become accustomed to new routines that felt familiar and comforting. One thing about their lives America didn’t appreciate, though, was England’s work. He was meeting with his government constantly, and it was stressing him out. He’d gotten used to the leisure of Boston, and now that he was back in London, the demand for his attention was high. America was always there to relax him when he came home, though.

England stepped into his house, hanging up his hat on a hook and sighing heavily.

America jumped up from an armchair in the parlor to give him a kiss and hug. “You’re back!”

He smiled and let his bag slump to the floor. Coming home to America made his job worth it. England could spend a thousand hours discussing tariffs if it meant that when it was over, he could kiss America. “Hello.”

“I missed you.”

“I was only gone for a few hours.”

“I know.”

England chuckled. “Well, I missed you, too. What do you say we do something fun today? We rarely get the time to do something recreational.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. Whatever you want, love.”

“I’d kind of like to just stay here and cuddle with you if that’s okay.”

England smiled. He couldn’t help it. America was just too cute. “I’d love that.” He grabbed America’s hand and pulled him onto the couch where they curled up into each other, fingers interlocked.

“I love you so much,” America said.

“I love you, too.” He replied, rubbing America’s arm calmingly. Then he paused, noticing the fabric he was touching. It hung over America’s body loosely due to it being a little too big. “Are you wearing my shirt?”

Blood rushed to America’s cheeks. “Um, yeah, sorry, we still need to do laundry. I was mostly out of clean clothes, and-”

“No, no, it’s alright. It’s kind of cute, actually.”

“Oh.” America turned even redder. “Thanks, I think. So how was work?”

He sighed. “Boring, mostly. Nothing but talk of tax and revenue. You don’t want to hear about it, trust me. How was your day here?”

“I did some paperwork and got some food. Nothing much happened.”

“I see.”

Conversation stopped, and they each found themselves listening to the rhythmic breathing of the other and becoming lost in their embrace.

England looked at the painting hanging over his fireplace, his favorite one, the one that showed him and America holding hands and walking down the streets of London. Every time he saw it, it made him smile. How could it not? Italy had flawlessly captured the shine of America’s eyes and the curve of his lips. It was as if they were really in the painting; it was so realistic.

His eyes drifted to the framed pictures on the mantle. The first on the left had him and America in a ballroom, spinning endlessly as they danced. They could never do that in real life, but in the faceless crowd, no one was raising an eyebrow.

The next was a sketch. He and America were cuddled up in bed together, fast asleep with smiles on their lips.

Then there was one of England when he was teaching America to play the piano- both were pressed together on the bench and looking down at sheet music while he guided America’s hands over the keys.

Last was a close up of their faces. America had a hand on England’s cheek, and they were both laughing about something.

Each was perfect, thanks to Italy’s unending talent for art. Asking him to paint them some portraits was probably one of the best decisions England had ever made. It was remarkable that he could do them so well without subjects posing for him, but he had spent a few weeks pouring over them before packing them up and sending them across the sea for the couple.

“Iggy?”

“Hmm?”

“I just realized something.”

“What?”

“The tallest person in the world was the same height as everybody else at some point in time. Isn’t that crazy?”

England laughed, kissing his forehead and sweeping a lock of blond hair behind his ear. “Where do you come up with these things, love?”

“I don’t know. What’s so funny?” America pouted.

“Nothing, daring. You’re just so smart in the most unconventional ways.”

He furrowed his brow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“That I love you, and I love hearing the things you think when your mind wanders.”

That seemed to satisfy him. “Okay.”

England gave him a gentle kiss that lasted longer than he expected as America wrapped his arms around him. “You really _did_ miss me, didn’t you?”

“Yeah,” America said sheepishly.

Somehow, England found himself feeling even lighter and happier than before. “What did I do to deserve you?”

America rested his head on England’s shoulder, inhaling the smell of him and enjoying the quality time that they had finally gotten.

*************

4 August 1768

Dear Papa,

It’s been a while since we’ve seen one another in person. I was thinking, perhaps when America returns home, you could go to Boston. I’d come down as well, of course. I’ve discussed it with him before, and he’s been more than agreeable. I think he misses you, too. We’d have to schedule it around when England would be there, but I think we could make it work. Additionally, you’d be able to meet Kaiya and Halona. I think you’d like them.

How is Saint Domingue? I heard he is having much success lately. The sugar that has been coming in backwater trade has been plentiful. Speaking of, I can’t thank you enough for helping me out. I know I say that in nearly every letter, but it’s true.

I miss you so much. As happy as I am to spend lots of time with America, I want to be with you again. If only you, my brother, and I could all be part of one family. But I suppose that will never happen. It’s not like you’d have any chance of convincing America to join your empire, and even if you could, England would never let that happen. Maybe it would have been better if you had found America and I together all those years ago before England had taken him.

Sorry, I don’t mean to complain. I suppose that ever since I left Boston, I’ve been more sentimental than usual. I’d gotten used to the loneliness until I stayed with him. Now, I’ve grown dependent on the company of others. It’s harder after living with those soldiers, too.

I didn’t experience the worst of it; I know that. But I still feel shaken by the footprint they left on me. Sometimes I’ll wake up in the middle of the night crying and calling for you or America.

I don’t say this to bring down your mood. Generally, I am well. It has been quiet here, which is better than having chaos. England has made some new boundaries between the natives, my brother, and me. They’ll keep the peace, I expect.

Two weeks ago, I visited Louisiana. She’s adapting to British rule, but I fear that she is fading. The future, as much as I wish it were uncertain, says that she will be lost soon. I don’t know why. I stayed with her as long as possible, but the British government demanded I go home. It terrifies me to know that she is slipping through my fingers, and there isn’t a single thing I can do to save her.

How are Senegal and Seychelles? I haven’t seen them since 1763, and I worry about them often.

Concerning your plans to reclaim my land, I’d love that. I don’t like being under England’s control, no matter how much he has grown on me. But I worry that it would pit you and me against one another. If he expects my forces to fight yours (and likely, America’s, too), then that is the last thing I want. You’re like a father to me. Je t’aime.

Anyway, I hope you are doing alright. We’ll see each other again. I’m sure of it; it won’t always be like this.

With love,

Canada

P.S. When you write back, if you’d put something in the envelope, a keepsake of sorts, I’d appreciate it. I have so few reminders of when we were one.

*************

28 September 1768

My Dear Canada,

It’s so good to hear from you. I worry about you day in and day out.

If your sincere wishes are to prevent war, then I shall not provoke England, no matter how much I miss you.

Senegal is alright. There is discourse between England and I (as usual) over which empire she should be part of. I will not give up, though. I can’t lose another colony. Spain and England are stealing them left and right, but it will not continue any longer.

Losing colonies has been difficult. I miss each one of them. None more than you, though. I grieve your loss every night, and I await your response each time I send a letter, even though our messages' transportation would have been impossible granted the timespan.

Seychelles is better than Senegal. I’ve kept her closer and now under direct supervision to assure her safety. The last thing I need is to lose another daughter.

Domingue is more than okay. He makes me proud every day as his power and influence grow. I expect that one day if he wishes to be independent, he will make a great country.

I’m deeply troubled to hear about Louisiana. I didn’t expect that she would fade so soon. I’ve sent letters to England to beg him to allow me to see her. By the time you receive this, his response will likely be on a ship crossing the English Channel. I understand your duties, but please keep her company. Don’t let her be alone when she disappears.

I am glad your politics are peaceful. No news is good news, in my opinion.

Hearing your struggles personally, though, upset me. You don’t know how much I wish I could be there to comfort you. As much as it pains me, though, please tell me more. I want to support you as well as I can, even if I am an ocean away.

As for Boston, nothing would make me happier than to see you again. I’ll let America know of my enthusiasm, and I hope he’ll sponsor a reunion.

You brighten up my life, _mon petit._ I love you more than words could ever express, and I’d give anything for us to be a family again- not that we are any less of a family due to England’s interference. I still see you as my son, and I always will. You are worth more than all the world’s gold, diamonds, and land. I’d give my whole empire for you. Never forget that, and if you ever feel alone, know that no matter what, I believe in you. You are so, so much stronger than you know. Keep your head held high, a smile on your face, and kindness in your heart, and you will go far.

I love you always,

France


	10. Boston Harbor

"You engross my thoughts too entirely to allow me to think of anything else—you not only employ my mind all day; but you intrude upon my sleep. I meet you in every dream—and when I wake I cannot close my eyes again for ruminating on your sweetness." -Alexander Hamilton

Eventually, America went home. England was unable to accompany him, trapped in London by his duties.

Pilgrim, America's calico cat, was very clingy, never leaving him alone from the moment he picked her up from the girls' house. She was a little fatter than she was when America left, likely Kaiya's fault.

All of the girls' animals were well, too. River was just as happy as ever, and he wagged his tail so furiously it looked like it would fall off.

Kaiya had moved in with Halona when America left, meaning that he was living by himself again, but he spent as much time visiting the girls as possible. Halona let him help out at the bookshop when she was working, and he sometimes went upstairs to her house to pass pins to Kaiya, who would sew throughout the day while Halona was in the shop.

It was on one of these visits that he decided to voice a question that had been on the tip of his tongue for years.

"Kaiya? Can I ask you something?"

She nodded, adding another stitch to her embroidery.

"It's about my mother. Remember when I told you that she was missing? Well, that's true, but you didn't know all the details about who I was then, so I didn't tell you the rest of the story. My mother is the personification of the native tribes. And, well, I don't know what happened to her." 

Kaiya stopped with her needle still halfway through the fabric. "I see."

"She went by the name Adsila. She never belonged to a single tribe- she bounced between them a lot. Although, she did have a particular fondness for the Cherokee and Navajo people. Anyway, I was wondering if you ever happened to have met her."

"I'm sorry, America, but I don't think so. Then again, the Oneida are not nomadic people, so our odds of meeting her were much slimmer than, say the Ojibwe."

"I haven't seen her, either."

He flinched in surprise, having not heard Halona come up the stairs. She was leaning on the banister with a grave expression.

The disappointment was all over his face, but he smiled. "Okay. I was just wondering."

"What exactly happened?" Halona asked quietly.

He sighed. "Well, she raised Canada and me. We had a great childhood. But things changed. I ended up leaving with England after they had a confrontation, and I never saw her again. Since then, the natives have faced constant land loss and... Well, if she's dead, then that's a textbook side effect of the death of a personification. I don't know. Maybe she's fine. I just hate not knowing."

"I'm sorry I couldn't help you, America," Kaiya whispered. She set her work down on the table and scooted closer to wrap her arms around him tightly. "It isn't your fault. You know that, right?"

He sighed, hugging her back with twice the force and pressing his forehead to her shoulder. "I should have stayed with her. I should never have left her."

She rubbed his back until he pulled away, laughing in vague embarrassment. "Sorry."

"You don't need to apologize. You did nothing wrong," said Halona. She had a tender expression, the least irritated one he'd ever seen on her.

"Have you talked to England about it?" Kaiya asked.

He shook his head. "I know I should. He was the last one to see her alive. The odds that he shot her aren't small."

"You can't leave that kind of stuff unspoken of in a relationship," Kaiya chided, but it had no bite. "It'll tear you apart."

"But how would I even start? And I love him. How could I accuse him of murdering my mother?"

Halona shrugged. "I'm sure he already knows that you worry about this."

"We've been doing better. It was difficult for a while, but we're finally getting over what happened. If I confront him about it, I could ruin all the progress we've made."

"Or you could save yourself from an even more damaging confrontation later."

He sighed, eyes drifting to a window behind her to watch a bird hop along a branch. "You're right. But I can't right now."

*************

"Alfred!" Canada cheered, running into his brother's arms with a massive grin on his face. They embraced in a crushing hug, both unable to contain their smiles. "I've missed you so much!"

"I missed you, too, Mattie. Come on, come inside." He said, pulling Canada off the stoop and into his house. "France will be arriving later today."

If it was even possible, Canada smiled wider. "Good. How have you been?"

"Well. I went with England to London for a while, came home, all that. What about you?"

"Bored."

America laughed. "What, there's no one covering government officials in feathers?"

"Your people are insane."

"I can't argue with that. Here, let me help you with your bags."

Canada got settled in the guest bedroom across from America's room- the biggest one. The room beside Canada's was prepared for France, and the last bedroom at the end of the hall was tidied in case the girls wanted to stay over for a night or two.

France's ship docked that afternoon, and the brothers greeted him at the dock.

 _"Bonjour!"_ He called as he stepped off the gangplank.

Canada got the first hug. They were thrilled to see each other, and Canada even cried a little while France hugged him, telling him how much he missed him.

Once they both composed themselves, America got a hug. He took France's biggest trunk and led the way back to his house.

"It's been so long since I've been to Boston!" France exclaimed. "I forgot how homey your house was."

America chuckled, locking the door behind them. "Thanks. It's not a mansion like yours, but it's cozy."

"I like it. Which room am I taking?"

"The second guest one. Canada can show you. I've got to get dinner started. I told you about Kaiya and Halona coming, right?"

 _"Oui,_ I'm excited to meet them. You speak of them so often. Alright, lead the way, Canada."

His former territory showed him to his room while America started boiling a pot of water. Right on time, the girls arrived, knocking twice.

He opened the door for them. "Kaiya! Halona!"

"Hello, America," Kaiya replied.

They came inside just as Canada and France came downstairs. Canada went straight to them, hugging each.

"I've missed you both so much," he said. "It's so good to see you again."

France took Kaiya's hand and gave it a quick kiss. "I'm France. _Enchanté, mademoiselle."_

She smiled. "Kaiya."

Halona received the same greeting and told him her name. With everyone introduced, they went to sit down at the kitchen table.

"What did you make?" Halona asked.

"Vegetable and lentil soup," he answered, serving it up. "It's November, so I figured it would be good for the weather."

"Hell yes, that stuff is so good!"

He sat down and scooped some up, blowing on it to cool it down. "So, France, what's going on at home?"

"Not much. There's a lovely new show playing in the Paris Opera, but other than that, it's just arguing with Romano. He's a stubborn bastard, that's for sure."

America laughed. "No argument there. And Spain?"

"Unwilling to listen to reason. But what's new? Since England wounded his pride in 1588, he just licks his wounds and plays the victim, refusing to hear any other narrative. But if you say that in front of Romano, he'll kill you."

"Who's Romano?" Kaiya asked.

"Southern Italy. He's very small and very angry," France summarized. "I do like him, though. He and Spain are in a relationship. Romano and his brother, Italy, came to stay with me a couple of years ago on vacation. They don't get along well, disrupting the Italian industry, but they still care about each other."

"Is that common? Nations disliking their families?"

America laughed. "Yeah, you could say that. England doesn't get along with his brothers- Scotland, Wales, and the Irish twins, who both represent Ireland, for some reason. Or France's distant cousins, the Nordic countries, are always bickering. Not as bad as Austria and Hungary, though. They're brother and sister, so you can imagine how difficult running an empire together must be."

"My father, Gaul, didn't get along with Aesti. Mostly because they fraternized while she was married to Scandinavia." France added. "So that's another divide in families."

"So, are all of you connected?"

America shook his head. "No. Most of us are very, very distantly related, but, for instance, I'm only related to Canada and Native America. We have the smallest family tree out of everyone."

Halona furrowed her brow. "Wait, France, how many siblings do you have?"

"A lot. My father had three children on his own- myself and two sisters: Luxembourg and Belgium. He and Aesti had two children, both boys. They became the Netherlands and Switzerland. My mother had five boys with her husband: Norway, Sweden, Estonia, and twins named Iceland and Greenland. Norway married Denmark, and they had a pair of boys, Lithuania and Latvia, who are my nephews."

"Wait, that doesn't make sense. How could a man have a child? Especially with another man?"

"They don't give birth like female personifications do," America explained. "Their kids just... kind of... appear, I guess. But all personifications instinctively know which children are theirs and what their names are. Or, original, core names, at least. Like, my mother always called me 'America,' even though I was born before the first English settlers arrived, and I wasn't called the British Colonies of America then. I was just Roanoke, then just Virginia. It wasn't for a while that I was really 'America.'"

"You don't have a father, though. So can the female personifications like Native America have children on their own as well?"

"Yes, but they have pregnancies- swift pregnancies, but pregnancies nonetheless. It's weird and confusing, I know. We don't really understand any of it either."

Kaiya hummed in consideration. "So who else is related?"

"Germania was the mother of Prussia, the Holy Roman Empire, and this guy everyone calls Ludwig who doesn't have land to personify yet because he was born really early. Then Prussia and Austria had a child named Liechtenstein."

"Who are England's parents?"

"He only had a mother, Britannia."

"Does he have any children?"

"Colonies that he's adopted, sort of, but not biologically- if you can call it that, and the colonies are more like friends, subjects, or responsibilities to him than family. Why?"

Kaiya shrugged, taking another bite of soup. "I'm just curious. It's all so strange and interesting. Who are the parents of the Italian brothers you mentioned?"

"Their mother is Dacia, who is the daughter of the Roman Empire," France informed her. "I'm related to them through a long, long chain of nations. Hell, I'm even related to England if you trace it back far enough. But family is a relative term when you're a personification. We normally only consider those in relatively close relation to us as family. Essentially, if you decide you're family, you're family. If you don't, you're not."

"Who has the biggest family?"

"Spain. He had children with the Aztec Empire, who is the sister of all the ancient civilizations south of here, who have tons of children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren, and great-great-grandchildren. His family tree is so extensive you'd die of boredom if I explained it all."

"Is there anyone without family?"

"Not as far as I know. In the explored world, we're all related to someone somehow."

She smiled. "That's nice. My family is large, but not that large."

"What tribe are you from?"

"The Oneidas. We're composed of around 20 families. Halona and I are, of course, in separate ones, but our two families live in the same longhouse."

"So you've known each other since childhood?"

Halona nodded, smiling at Kaiya. "Yes. We used to play with corn husk dolls in the woods, skip rocks, swim, climb trees, and work together when we were young."

Kaiya's eyes lit up at the memories. "Remember that time you fell in the brook because you tried to run across a fallen tree, and that frog got in your hair?"

She rolled her eyes. "Whatever. You fell into a snowdrift so deep I had to dig you out during chase, so..."

They all laughed, ate dinner, and conversed. By the end of the meal, it was like the girls had known France all along.

*************

America dropped a small stack of papers on the kitchen table in front of France and Canada, who were playing a game of checkers. France appeared to be winning, but if Canada played well enough, he might pull off a victory. Or, at least, he would have been able to before the papers knocked the checkers off their squares.

"America!" Canada protested.

"Sorry. But it's important."

"What is it?"

America gestured to the papers. Canada rolled his eyes and picked them up, beginning to read. "They set it on fire?"

France frowned. "Fire? That doesn't sound good. What does it say?"

"John Hancock, one of my citizens, had a ship full of wine from you and your people that tax agents seized. I hear they're fixing their shiny new ship up to be part of the Navy now."

Canada shook his head. "Wait, 'Mer, I thought that pretty much all the tax agents quit because they kept getting terrorized."

"They did, but England just hired more. Anyway, the Sons of Liberty threw stones through the tax agent's window all night. Worse, they, somehow, dragged a tax ship out of the harbor and set it on fire in front of his house. Now all the tax officials in Boston have _literally_ fled from the mainland and are on an island off the coast of Massachusetts, hiding."

"Wow."

"And if that isn't enough, England's new warships are coming in. There's one here with _fifty guns."_

Canada sighed. "You have got to be kidding me. Is it true what they're saying about the Navy?"

"That they're kidnapping my people and forcing them into service? Yes." He sat down at the table, running his hands through his hair. "What am I going to say to England?"

France patted his back comfortingly. "I'm sorry, _Amérique._ I don't know. I have never had a lover that actively kidnapped my citizens."

"It's not his fault. He has free will, and he isn't his government. Technically. Sort of," America said, trying to convince himself. "I just don't know what to do. How am I supposed to stop this?"

"Well, really, Hancock was in the wrong," Canada reminded him.

"Not about that. England will get over that pretty easily. He'll be annoyed, but it'll pass. I'm talking about the ships and the impressment."

"I'm sure he already knows it's happening. Just bring it up in your letter and ask him if he has any ideas for a solution. That will be less accusing and more conversational," Canada suggested. "That's what I would have said to France if this had happened to me while I was French."

France smiled sadly at Canada. "You never would have had to, though."

He returned it. "I know. But England's in charge now. It probably won't be long before his Navy starts kidnapping large numbers of my people, too. We need to put this to rest. And be sure to talk about how you feel uncomfortable with him sending warships. Even if we factor out your relationship, it's _still_ inappropriate for him to imply that he's ready to use such force against his colony that he's in charge of protecting when the people have not provoked a reaction so extreme. "

America rubbed his temples, trying to fight off a budding headache. "Alright. I'll write to him. That will fix it."

*************

That did not fix it. In October, British troops under General Thomas Gage docked in Boston, marching out in straight lines with stony expressions. And not long after that came the Boston Non-Importation Agreement- an alliance between American merchants to boycott British goods. Of course, this wasn't something England was fond of, and it only served to stir up trouble.

Political unrest was nothing new, but it was tiring.

Over in London, England was overloaded with work. The Archbishop of Canterbury had died, and he was getting a new Prime Minister. That meant that both positions were being transferred to successors, which never came without issues and paperwork.

Parliament was harassing him, too, because some colonists were still refusing to quarter their soldiers, and England hadn't done much to change that. How could he? Every time someone mentioned the act, he thought about that night in Boston when he watched America scrub out his pillowcase until the skin on his hands cracked and turned the water red.

America. Just his name made England sad.

He missed him so much; being an ocean away was difficult, even if it was temporary. His absence was consuming his mind. When he woke up on early English mornings in crisp sheets, he missed America's warmth. When he made his morning tea, he missed the pop of grease in the pan from making bacon. When he wrote his letters, he missed hearing America shift and squirm in his seat, unable to sit still. In the afternoon, he missed eating Mr. Jenkins' muffins with him. At dinner, he missed having someone to talk to. And worst of all was when he lay down to sleep and wanted America there, wanted to kiss his lips, stroke his soft hair, exchange sweet nothings, and stare into his Carolina blue eyes.

It didn't take long for his scent to fade from the bed. It was nearly undetectable within a week, and England longed to inhale the smell of warm wheat fields, wood, gun powder, and fresh air.

London was lonely. Sure, he had friends there. But none that were close and certainly none that he would ever invite into his home, especially with the sketches and paintings that decorated it.

Prussia, Ludwig (an unknown personification who was currently taking care of the Holy Roman Empire's duties since he had fallen ill), Austria, and their sister, Hungary, all visited briefly. Still, none stayed with him, and as much as he enjoyed the company of Ludwig and Hungary, they weren't what he would consider friends. As for the others, neither Austria nor England liked the other, but their countries cooperated, and Prussia was demanding about England's debt whenever he saw him. Not as much as the Netherlands, but still.

Then there was his family. As usual, Scotland was stirring up trouble, complaining that he should be its own country, though not acting on it. He wouldn't dare. England's empire was too strong; his colonies would never rebel at a time like this.

The Irelands often followed in Scotland's footsteps and were stressing Wales out, which meant that England's inbox was flooded with nervous letters, so opening it to find a message from America was a nice change of pace.

August 29, 1768

My Dearest, England,

I can't tell you how much I miss you. The distance between us is eating me up inside, and I simply cannot bear it. Canada has come to visit, and of course, I have Kaiya and Halona, but they aren't you. Come back to Boston as soon as your work allows it; I need to see you again.

Last night, I was lying in bed and thinking about you. Specifically, I was thinking about when we were on the _Superior._ I know I was very impatient at the time, but whenever I look back on it, I remember all the best parts and how I got to spend endless hours with you. I'd give anything to have you with me like that again- no work, no outside political chaos, just you and me.

England, I can't tell you how much I love you. It's beyond words. All I can say is that I still feel tingly and weak in the knees when we kiss, I still can't help but smile whenever I come downstairs to see you there, and I am still in awe over how lucky I am to have you.

I don't know if you remember the first time we kissed. In case you don't, let me remind you. We were in London, it was raining, and you were waiting for me on the pier because my ship was arriving. No one else was there- just you because the wind was howling and the waves were crashing around the port violently. It was also late evening, and I expected that you would be at home. Hell, all the other ship's passengers decided to spend an extra night on board so that they didn't have to run through the city in the terrible weather. But you were there, and when I got off the ship and saw you, my heart nearly burst from my chest.

You were drenched, and your hair was a mess, but god, especially with the grayness around you, your eyes were beautiful.

I couldn't help myself, and before I knew what I was doing, we were kissing, your arms were around me, and everything was right in the world.

I think about that all the time.

You're amazing, Iggy, and I don't know who I would be without you in my life. Things get hard for us sometimes, but no matter what, I swear to you that I'll always be there for you. If you need me, I'm yours- forever.

With all of my heart,

America

England refolded the letter, slipping it into its envelope and holding it close. America had always been good at writing, and every time England got a love letter from him, he would end up with overwhelming emotion and a feeling like none other in his chest.

Reading them made him feel like America was there while making him lonely at the same time. Each one brought him closer to America, but they also reminded him that he wasn't physically there.

Grinning like a fool, he headed upstairs to open the drawer to his nightstand. England pulled out a box. Inside, he kept all the love letters that America sent him, and now he added another to the top of the stack.

*************

Swimming had been Halona's idea. She decided that they should do something fun together and assured America that it would be a great experience.

Being late February, that meant that the water was very, very cold. Any sane person would have decided that swimming in that kind of weather was crazy. But Halona wasn't a sane person (that was his most recent conclusion about his friend. No other decision could have been made after he watched her kick off her shoes, charge, and leap off the pier).

Kaiya peeked over the side, waiting for Halona's head to breach the surface. When it did, she smiled teasingly. "Cold?"

"Why don't you find out for yourself?" Halona said, an evil glint in her eye. She grabbed Kaiya's hand and yanked her forward, pulling her into the water.

She yelped. "Halona!"

America laughed. "Are you guys okay?"

"Fine. Are you going to jump in, or are you too chicken?"

A challenge. America could never turn down a challenge. He sat down and pulled off his shoes, shedding his socks, vest, and overcoat before leaping in after her. The moment he hit the water, it sent a shock right through him, and he found himself regretting it instantly.

Canada and France were still dry, and despite what America had expected, they ended up getting in as well. He got used to the frigid water after a while, but it was still unpleasant. Kaiya, Halona, and Canada seemed unaffected, though, and they raced each other through the white caps and waves.

"They are insane," France declared.

"Y- You can say that ag- again," America said through chattering teeth. His whole body trembled as he shivered and regretted being born.

"Aww, _Amérique,"_ France cooed. "You are so cute when you stutter."

He shot France a glare. "Whatever."

They ended up being in the water for twenty minutes before France insisted that the humans should get out of the water lest they catch some sort of ailment.

France climbed back onto the wooden pier first, extending his hand to pull up Canada, who assisted America, who helped Kaiya, who would have helped Halona if she hadn't insisted that she could do it herself and clamored up on her own.

She and Kaiya had worn loose, very casual dresses that they didn't have any particular attachment to in order to swim so that they could do so with more ease and wouldn't ruin any of the clothes they liked.

On the way home, America realized that the only thing worse than being in the water was being out of it. He had given his coat to Halona after Canada offered his jacket to Kaiya. They were only humans, after all, and the odds of them catching a disease were high after such a cold swim, even if they didn't seem to be very bothered by it.

So the only thing he had on, besides his soaked shirt, was his vest, which got very damp after wearing it for just a minute, meaning that it was useless in keeping him warm.

"That was fun!" Canada chirped.

"I agree. We should do that again sometime," Halona added.

America gawked. "All three of you are completely insane. There's no way I'm going swimming again until summer."

"I second that!" France said.

They were just turning onto Cornhill Street when Canada, who was in front, stopped. America bumped into him and glared at the back of his head. "Hey, what was that for?"

"Well, well, well. If it isn't Matthew and Alfred Jones." America's blood ran cold. He knew that voice.

"I'll be damned!"

"And the savage girls, too! Who's your new friend?"

"And why are you all wet?"

Canada steeled his nerves, staring back into the faces of the four soldiers that had occupied America's house. "Leave us alone."

France looked at them distrustfully. _"Matthieu, qui sont-ils?"_

 _"Les soldats qui vivaient avec Amérique,"_ He answered, informing him of who they were in French. Usually, it was annoying when the two of them held conversations in French that America couldn't understand, mostly because they did it while staring at him just to make him uncomfortable. But now, he was thankful that they could communicate. None of the soldiers spoke anything other than English.

"What'd he tell you?" Frederick demanded.

France glared at the soldiers. "It's none of your business."

"You can't do anything, Frederick," Halona stated plainly, crossing her arms. "Arthur fully pardoned us from any services corresponding to the Quartering Act, meaning you have no power over us anymore."

Ellis smirked, grabbing America's wrist and yanking him away from his friends. "I wouldn't say that. Hey, Alfie. It's been a while, huh?"

Richard laughed. "Get a room, you two!"

"Not a bad idea," Ellis replied, eyes flickering from America's wrist, still held tightly in his hand, to his panicked face.

Kaiya stepped forward. "Let him go."

Ellis scoffed. "Or what?"

"Or I'll make you let go."

He laughed. _"You?_ How?"

In a flash, Kaiya had lashed out, punching Ellis in the jaw so hard that America heard it make a popping sound. He fell to his knees, pressing a hand to his face and making a noise that sounded like a goose being strangled.

With that, Kaiya took America's hand and pulled him away from Ellis. She began marching past the soldiers and toward their house, with Canada, France, and Halona following right behind.

America looked at her with wide eyes. "Thanks, Kaiya."

"Don't mention it. I've wanted to punch the son of a bitch for quite some time."

Halona smiled at Kaiya with pride as if to say, _'That's my girl.'_

Somehow, America had a feeling that Ellis wouldn't be a problem anymore.


	11. The First Massacre

“The tree of liberty must be refreshed from time to time with the blood of patriots and tyrants.” -Thomas Jefferson

Eyota tossed his head impatiently while Halona brushed his black, flicking tail.

She rolled her eyes. “I’m almost done, Eyota. Just hold on.”

He made a huffing sound that resembled an indignant child.

Halona’s stallion had been just a young colt when she named him, but already she could tell he was wild. Eyota was a name meaning ‘great,’ and anyone who had seen him run could assure you that he lived up to it.

Halona never used the word ‘tame’ when it came to Eyota. No one could ever tame him. He was a free spirit: unstoppable and independent. He had simply decided to work with her. It was a partnership of sorts with neither one of them in any position of power more significant than the other.

On the other end of the scale was Angeni, Kaiya’s horse. She was a very quiet, docile mare that found her strength in kindness. Never once had she lashed out at another person. She’d always been peaceful, and Kaiya was a perfect match for her.

Kaiya tied off Angeni’s braid and climbed carefully into the saddle, making sure that the straps weren’t uncomfortable for her horse.

Halona set the brush down and tightened the laces on her boots, which were mostly concealed beneath her dress. Once she was satisfied with their security, she stepped onto a stool and swung up onto Eyota’s back, gripping his mane for stability. Unlike Angeni, Eyota would never tolerate a saddle, reins, bit, or any other kind of equipment, but Halona was a skilled enough rider that his refusal didn’t bother her.

For Kaiya, saddles and reins weren’t essential. Like Halona and all the other native children that received instruction in horse riding, she’d been taught to ride without one. But it was safer with one, and Angeni understood her better when she used reins.

They guided their horses out of the public stables (one could rent a stall on a monthly basis) and out of town into the pastures.

Summer had come to Massachusetts, and the landscape was kissed by the sun. Warm grass could be smelt as soon as you entered the countryside. The rural area was expansive- perfect for horse riding.

Halona nudged Eyota with her heel to spur him on. He gained speed, and his hooves thumped against the dirt trail until they were in unsettled territory.

Kaiya and Angeni weren’t far behind. Angeni wasn’t as fast as Eyota, but Halona wasn’t encouraging him to use his full strength so they could keep up.

This part of Massachusetts was rolling hills, large trees, and rippling grass as far as the eye could see. Mountains were looming in the distance, marking the edge of the colonies. America resented those mountains, but Halona liked them. They were like a wall of stone, jutting into the sky and reminding everyone that they were there. The mountains would never be told what to do or that they were inferior. The mountains couldn’t be pushed down and threatened. They just stood there, pillars of strength, as if determination had physically manifested itself into cliffs, ridges, pinnacles, and cols.

Kaiya liked them, too. They reminded her of Halona.

“Are we heading anywhere specific?” Kaiya called.

Halona shook her head.

That was fine with Kaiya. This was one of Halona’s favorite activities- riding from dawn to dusk without any true purpose. It could be tiring, but it was worth it to see the grin on her face.

Halona was an anomaly. That was what Kaiya had concluded about her oldest friend and closest companion. The earth would tremble in her wake. Where Halona stepped, the ground would crack. If she was angry, the sky would flash with lightning. Mountains would rise and fall at her word. If someone had told Kaiya that Halona had commanded a forest to move and the whole thing collapsed, she wouldn’t have been surprised. Because that was who Halona was. She was a force of nature, an other-worldly storm that could level cities and destroy limitations with a brush of her fingers- and to Kaiya, she was irresistible.

Angeni began to tire, and Kaiya slowed her to a stop. Reluctantly, Halona paused as well. “What’s wrong?”

“Angeni’s too tired. We’re going to take a break. You can keep going, though.”

“But what about you?”

“You can just double back and get us later. It’s fine; I know you two want to go fast.”

Halona grinned. “Alright. I’ll be back soon. I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

Not able to hesitate any longer, Halona and Eyota sprinted off. The wind tore at them, and the world blurred as she urged him to go faster and faster. Eyota didn’t need to be told twice. He liked their rides as much as, if not more than, Halona. He adored the sheer freedom of it all, like he was utterly unrestrained. And, in these rare moments of liberation, he was.

*************

“You have _got_ to be kidding me,” America said, tossing a piece of paper on the table and sighing heavily.

France, who had been writing a letter to his king, stopped. “What is it?”

“Two pieces of news. First, there was an altercation in New York between some colonists and soldiers, and quite a few people were hurt. Second, they’ve shot a kid!”

“Who?”

“The soldiers! Look!” He handed France the paper, “Christopher Seider. Eleven years old, and this guy shot him twice, and now he’s dead, just because he happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

Canada put a hand on America’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, America.”

“England’s soldiers were already bad news, but now they’re killing my people! My _children!_ And it happened here, in Boston, right under my nose!.”

“When’s the funeral?” Canada asked.

“This weekend.”

“Do you want to go?”

America nodded, eyes glued to the table. “Yeah. I owe the kid that much.”

*************

America was on King Street outside the statehouse with Canada and France, enjoying the early evening’s fresh air when an argument broke out. A British soldier and a man he recognized as the wig maker's apprentice were shouting at one another indignantly, throwing their hands up and pointing. A couple more soldiers shuffled over to take their comrade’s side, causing the wig maker’s apprentice to snap at them, too.

“What’s going on?” America asked.

Canada followed his gaze. “I don’t know.”

As the decorations on their uniforms told him, a private and captain-lieutenant were the ones facing the apprentice, yelling about respect and a bill for a wig. With his fellow personifications at his sides, America pushed his way over to get a better look when the private abruptly struck the apprentice on the head with the butt of his musket.

France gasped. _“Oh mon dieu!”_

Their rude yelling turned into threats of further violence in seconds.

Before America could get involved with the debacle to de-escalate it, a local bookseller, Henry Knox, got between them, warning the private. “If you shoot, you must die for it.”

“He needs to learn some respect for the British army. I’m sick and tired of colonists acting as if they are not subordinates!”

Crowds had gathered to watch what was happening, and America began trying to get them to disperse. Clustering up when the powderkeg that was Boston was bordering on being set off was the worst thing they could do.

It did no good, especially when someone rang the church bells, which usually signified a fire, so more people came out of their homes to help with the ‘fire’ until they stumbled into the growing problem. Soon, at least fifty people had clotted up the square, and they were beginning to press in on the private.

Something bad was going to happen- America could feel it. He looked around at the mob and wracked his brain for ideas. Their safety should be his top priority, so he needed to keep more people from accidentally showing up, which meant…

“Francis, go tell whoever is ringing the bells to stop,” America directed. His friend nodded, heading to the church to put a stop to the metaphorical bleeding.

Canada took America’s sleeve. “What can we do?”

“Calm them down. The more tension, the more likely it is that someone will act out. We can’t have soldiers and civilians fighting in the middle of Boston- it’ll be unsafe, and England will be furious.”

“Okay, how do we get them back under control?”

He shrugged, then tried reasoning with the mob. “Everyone, calm down! Stop!”

America’s voice was drowned out under the growing number of other people. The group grew to around 350, and they began to taunt the soldier and toss snowballs at him. Only about fifty were participating; the rest were watching from the sidelines, cheering them on.

America grabbed one instigator’s arm. “Sir, please stop!”

“Who the fuck are you to tell me what to do?” He roared, turning on America.

“I’m not! I’m urging you to rethink this! A fight here would-”

“Are you some kind of loyalist?” The man demanded, pushing America back. “Why are you defending them?”

“I’m not defending them, but you have to stop this. It’s for your own safety!”

Canada grabbed America’s hand, pulling him away from the mob and the man, who went back to harassing the soldiers. “It’s not working! We need to get out of here!”

The jeers were too loud to hear over. “What?”

“I said-”

“Fire your weapon!” A man with a wild look in his eyes screamed at the soldiers, “I dare you! Fire it!”

“Get _back!”_ The private cried defensively.

They continued. A runner left to get more soldiers, which could only spell out bad news.

One of the women took up a small stone and hurled it at the private. “Fuck you and your whole army!”

Following her example, more people took up ice, snowballs, small rocks, oyster shells, and sticks to throw at the young man. One even brandished a club threateningly.

“Come on!” the man with the club said, “Give us a reason to have you killed! Come on, shoot, Private!”

America got out of Canada’s hold and put a hand on his citizen’s chest, causing him to pause. “Sir, stop! If he fires, he could kill someone!”

“And we’d kill him in return!” The man shoved America to the ground.

He tried a woman throwing small rocks next, imploring her, “Ma’am, please, this will only cause trouble!”

“So be it,” she answered. “For the resistance!”

The other colonists took up the cheer, continuing to assault the private, even when Captain Thomas Preston arrived with six other soldiers to deal with the riot.

Henry Knox scowled at Preston. “Oh, for god’s sake, take care of your men. If they fire, you must die.”

Preston returned the look. “I am aware of it.”

America watched nervously as the Captain and his men loaded their muskets and formed a semi-circle, defending the private.

“Get back!” Preston commanded. “Get out of here!”

“We aren’t going to let some damn redcoat tell us what to do!” A man jeered, though it was unclear who it was.

“I’m warning you to leave. That is an order!”

The same voice returned. “You can’t do anything unless you want to shoot us. Go on, Captain, fire!”

“Yeah, fire!” Another man challenged, spitting at the captain’s feet.

“Fire!”

“Do it!”

“Fucking do it!”

A snowball that must have had ice in it came out of nowhere, striking a different private in the head and knocking him down. He grabbed the gun off the ground and stood back up, anger written all over his face. “Damn you, fire!”

He discharged his weapon into the crowd, and the rage of the mob escalated. America saw an innkeeper wave a cudgel around, hitting the soldier that had just discharged his weapon in the arm.

Then everything seemed to slow down. Faintly, he felt Canada gripping him again to take him further away from the soldiers, but it barely registered in his mind. A pause occurred, and America had no idea how long it lasted, but he watched in horror as the soldiers took aim at his people.

He tried to run forward, screaming desperately, _“No!”_

Shots rang out as people fell to the ground, and bursts of light came from the guns’ barrels. Only then did he break free of his brother.

America dashed to the nearest victim. He recognized him as one of the ropemakers from the docks, but a musket ball had already gone through his head, killing him. He dropped to his knees beside the next closest person, a teenager, who was clutching his stomach and gasping for breath.

America pulled off his coat and pressed it over the wound, looking down at his citizen desperately. “What’s your name?”

“J- James. James Caldwell.”

“Okay, James, my name is Alfred. I’m here to help you, okay?” He said, trying to keep the teenager calm as musket smoke built up in the air.

“Okay,” he responded, eyes welling up. “It hurts.”

“I know. You’re going to be alright, though. Where are your parents?”

“Home. I’m not from B- Boston. I work on a ship. I heard the bells and thought there was a fire, so I went- I went to help put it out. I didn’t know it was a riot.”

America looked around, trying to block out the people screaming and the sounds of the guns. “Listen, James. We need to get you to a doctor. Do you think you can stand?”

He shook his head. “Alfred?”

“Yes?”

“Am I going to die?”

America felt his heart lurch. “Maybe. But I’m going to do my best to take care of you.”

“My parents,” the boy croaked. “They won’t know-”

“I’ll make sure that they know what happened to you. I swear.”

He nodded weakly, beginning to cry. “You need to tell them I love them. They have to know.”

“Of course,” he promised as the gunfire ceased.

A hand was on his shoulder, and he found himself looking up at a grave France. “Alfred, are you alright?”

“Yes, but I have to get this boy to a doctor right away.”

France nodded, helping America lift the boy off the ground. He cried out in pain as they hurried to the doctor’s house, but they ignored his whimpers in favor of getting him there faster.

They burst through the door, and the doctor motioned toward a cot. “Put him over there.”

Eleven others were in the house already, each with wounds from musket balls that left gaping holes.

America wanted to stay with the boy, but the doctor insisted that he needed space to work and that he was a distraction, so he ended up sitting on the doctor’s stoop, waiting for news.

A few hours later, Canada brought him some. “Captain Preston called out the 29th regiment. They’re guarding the statehouse. Halona and Kaiya were both at home and didn’t get hurt. Neither did the Jenkins family.”

It was quiet in the streets. No one was around except for him and his brother. America sighed. “Did the crowd disperse?”

“Yes. The governor was able to convince them to after promising that an investigation would begin.”

He nodded, wringing his hands anxiously. “That’s good.”

Canada sat down beside him. “You’re upset.”

“I just watched my people be shot in the street like dogs. Yeah, Canada, I’m a little upset.”

He wrapped an arm around him comfortingly. “I know. I’m sorry. Is there anything I can do for you? Anything I can get you?”

“No.”

“How about you come home? It’s the middle of the night.”

“I need to know if James is okay.”

Canada glanced at the doctor’s shut door. “Who?”

“A kid,” America explained. “He was there and got hit. I brought him to the doctor’s house. But he’s just a teenager. Maybe sixteen or seventeen. And he didn’t even mean to be there.”

Canada looked solemn. “Alright. Then I’ll wait with you.”

“What? Why?”

“Because you’re my brother, and if he doesn’t make it, I want to be there for you.”

America gave him a weak smile. “Thanks, Canada.”

*************

James Caldwell didn’t survive, and he became one of five fatalities.

The soldiers were arrested the next morning, and the troops had been asked to fall back, so they moved their camps while trials were held. In the end, the court ruled that only two of the soldiers were deemed guilty of manslaughter.

Public outrage was an epidemic. The media ate it up, both patriots and loyalists using different parts of it to point fingers at the other side. To America, it was an injustice. While his people were guilty of harassment and minor assault, the soldiers had murdered them in return.

England wrote to him, of course, offering condolences and apologies. He promised that he’d be back in Boston as soon as he could be and that when he arrived, he’d have a talk with Captain Thomas Preston.

The 2,000 soldiers sent over to monitor his people, dubbed ‘regulators,’ made his regards seem less than sincere.

France made a lot of pastries, though, so at least America could eat away his problems.

Kaiya and Halona were too busy to visit much. As the year wore on, more and more people came to the shop searching for political novels and law information.

May of 1771 hit in no time, it seemed. With spring blooming, life being reborn, and the cold of winter finally melting away, America was hopeful. This month would be good, he said to his housemates. Nothing was going to ruin it- not this time.

He was wrong.

On the 15th, an organized group of a thousand soldiers approached Orange County, North Carolina. The next day, peace was attempted until a soldier shot the man trying to reason with them.

Not long after, a man was sent to wave a white flag. He, too, was shot dead. A second flag-bearer was sent by the governor, meeting the same fate as the last.

The soldiers set fire to the forest, and a fight occurred, which the soldiers won after both sides suffered many casualties and injuries. The loyalists took captives and executed them systematically as a show of power.

America’s blood was boiling when he heard, and Canada worried that he’d burst into flames of anger. Both he and France decided that avoiding him for a day or two after would be the best course of action so that he’d have time to simmer down.

Letters between America and England ensued, in which England refused to apologize, claiming that the uprisings were getting out of hand and that the actions of his troops were justified, but that it was unfortunate that it came to this. America didn’t take the responses well.

A massacre of native people had also occurred along his and Canada’s border, which didn’t help things.

America found himself feeling more and more stressed out, and he had to look for new ways to calm himself down. Walks, working on puzzles with Canada, and laying on the couch, listening to France hum while he cooked became his favorites.

Pilgrim had been needier lately, so sometimes she would curl up on the couch with him and, on occasion, even sleep in his bed with him. She still spent most of her time with Canada, though. But who could blame her? Canada was caring and quiet, exactly what she wanted. Plus, he was always willing to hold her, even if he was in the middle of working.

“Maybe we should get even more cats!” Canada had once suggested.

That idea was shot down the moment it was suggested.

Things could have been better, but they could have been worse, and America was okay with life at home, as long as there were no more incidents.

*************

England twirled his quill between his fingers. He’d been drafting the speech he intended to give Parliament the next day, but the words he needed evaded him.

A massive flood had covered part of southern Great Britain, and he had so many things he needed to discuss concerning relief and prevention, but he simply couldn’t phrase them. Each time he thought he had something, he’d write it down, and it would sound clunky or awkward. Where was his usual silver tongue?

Probably back in Boston with America.

Things kept straining, and America hadn’t sent him a letter in… god, probably six months. The beautiful sentences America could string together to tell him how much he loved him always gave him motivation, but as of late, he’d been severely deprived.

And it wasn’t even his fault! America was angry about how his troops were reacting, but honestly, what did he expect to happen with the way his people were treating them? What did he want England to do? Sit back and watch while his government officials were harassed, and the law was continuously broken?

He’d tried to appease him. Last time America was in London, he mentioned England taking a South-Atlantic archipelago that had been, at the time, named Las Islas Malvinas so that she wouldn’t have to be under Spanish rule. England had given a non-committal response, not intending on following through, but later, he figured that it would please America while simultaneously strengthening him if he could figure out how to do it.

After endless negotiation, he convinced Spain to cede her to him, which was no small feat. Now called the Falkland Islands, she was under his protection, just like America had wanted. He didn’t care, though! So all of England’s efforts had been for naught. At least she had plenty of seafood exports.

It’d been even longer since he got a letter from Canada. Not that Canada often sent him personal mail, that only happened when Canada was making an appeal to see France- but surely there would have been something professional he wanted to discuss. Perhaps it was a coincidence.

Odder than Canada’s silence was that France hadn’t been stuffing his inbox. Gloating, passive-aggressive letters were always coming in from the south, typically mocking England for his Parliament’s difficulties, the problem he was having in his various colonies, or, when there was little news to work with, his eyebrows. But France was eerily quiet.

Maybe he didn’t feel the need to write them. His economy was entering a prosperous phase, a stark contrast to England and all his debt. Maybe he felt like he had enough of a leg up on him that he didn’t need to flaunt it. Still, it wasn’t _that_ great of a victory, and England found himself worrying that there was something else happening- what if France had some kind of advantage that he didn’t know about? What if he was planning something?

The ‘France feels like he’s too successful for rude letters’ theory wasn’t to say that England was low on the ladder of success- not by any means. He was currently the strongest empire on Earth, especially considering that Russia was dealing with a plague outbreak and France’s monarchy was full of morons.

Despite all of his land, all of his ships, and all of his armies, he felt powerless when it came to America.

“If you were upset with your lover, Elizabeth, what would make you feel better?” He asked his cat.

She was lying on the desk beside him and his work, spread out, being an inconvenience. At his question, she swiped at and bit one of his quills. It fell to the floor, and she hopped down to play with it.

“Good idea,” England said. “I’d probably like a love letter, too. Besides, he always writes the most lovely ones and mine aren’t normally as… oh, I don’t know… eloquent, no matter how much I mean them. But you’ll help me, won’t you?”

His cat sighed and hopped up on his bed to take a nap. So much for the assistance.

England grabbed a new piece of paper and got his quill off the floor. He dipped it in the ink, dated the page, and took a deep breath. “‘My love, America. I find myself missing you more each day. This morning, I was yet again disappointed to find that I hadn’t received a letter from you.’” England paused. “No, that’s no good.”

He crumpled up the draft and set it aside, grabbing a new sheet and dipping his quill into the inkwell again. “‘My love, America. I find myself missing you more each day. From the moment I wake up to the second I fall asleep, you are on my mind. Being separated from you is agony, and my soul aches to know that you’re all the way across the Atlantic.’” England nodded. “Yeah, that sounds good. Elizabeth?”

She didn’t stir.

“‘Thank you, I liked it, too. Alright. Here we go again. ‘I hope that you are doing well. Your happiness is of the utmost importance to me. When I return, I promise to devote as much time to you as possible. I miss feeling your hand in mine.’”

England’s quill came to a stop again. Should he ask about Kaiya and Halona? No, he decided. This was about America. He wouldn’t clutter it with questions about others- those could be for another letter.

“‘Anyway, all this is just to say that I love you. Please write to me soon. Love, England.’ There we go. It’s not a work of art, but perhaps I’ll at least get a response.”

*************

America was a patriot. Nationalism lived in him, just like in many others, but he wasn’t as extreme as some of his people were.

Riots had been popping up here and there over trees. The Navy needed to build more ships, and since there were not many suitable sources of timber for masts in Great Britain, they decided to take it from North America, which had lots of trees thick enough for shipbuilding.

There had been a decree a while back about restrictions on how wide trees colonists cut down could be. Of course, fat floorboards became the fashion for a time, just to spite the soldiers that were supposed to enforce the rule.

It wasn’t actually enforced, either. Most people got away with it, and those that didn’t faced very minimal repercussions, but once a new governor came into power and took the rule seriously, things in New Hampshire began heating up.

Benjamin Whiting was the sheriff of a small county called Hillsborough, and he had a deputy named John Quigley. A mill nearby had been caught with trees in sizes violating the law. Whiting and Quigley were the unfortunate men assigned to deal with the issue.

The mill’s owner was arrested and released after promising to pay bail the next day. Whiting and Quigley had to stay the night before leaving, though, and each got a room at the Pine Tree Tavern, a local hub. That night, the mill’s owner and 30-40 men met, all livid. After riling themselves up, they stormed the tavern with soot-blackened faces for disguise and tree branch switches.

Each man dragged from his bed and viciously assaulted- held by wrists and ankles as the mob whipped him. Once bored of that, they carried them to the inn’s door and brought out the law enforcers’ horses. They shaved the horses’ tails and manes and cut off their ears before forcing them onto their horses and making them ride out of the town while citizens shouted and threw things.

In the end, only eight of the rioters were identified, and then they were each fined twenty shillings- about ten days’ wages.

Most of the time, America sided with his people when it came to disputes like this. But even he had to admit that this was cruel and an overreaction.

Of course, there were modified reports of what had happened claiming more aggression on the victims’ side, but considering the violent riots that had been popping up across the colonies, he doubted that those were true.

This time, England didn’t even mention the incident in his letters, which somehow made America feel guiltier. He sent an apology letter, but it received no acknowledgment in England’s messages.

Diplomacy was challenging, to say the least. He just hoped it wouldn’t cause any more issues between himself and England.


	12. The Committees of Correspondance

“I love you more and more every hour.” -Alexander Hamilton

Canada liked his things. He liked his people, his resources, his buildings, his land, and virtually anything else in his territory. It was Canadian (because, taken from France or not, he refused to use Quebec when he didn’t have to), and it was wonderful in his eyes.

England disagreed.

His navy swiped ships from Canada, which wasn’t something outlandish, and it wasn’t a big deal when they stripped them of the accents on their names, but it irritated him.

He complained to America, who nodded along in support, but he didn’t get it. English didn’t have accents, so it wasn’t the same. In French, a word without its accents is no longer the intended word, and it was just… wrong. France understood better, but even then, he had never been someone’s colony and also couldn’t fully relate.

So, yes, Canada was irked, but that happened a while ago, and he even ignored it when America’s colonists trashed a ship called the _St. John._

But June 10th, 1772, officially made him angry.

Many British bigwigs had used his ships for various things, including the HMS _Gaspee._ She was a beautiful schooner, one that Canada particularly enjoyed trips on when it was in his possession.

Her captain was less desirable. Not only was he rude, arrogant, and violent, but he was stupid. It was a very unfortunate combination and led to him being one of the most hated men in Rhode Island. Eventually, he got stuck in the shallow water of one of Canada’s bays after steering his ship right into it.

Citizens of Providence, Rhode Island, saw an opportunity- and they took it. Early that morning, they shot the _Gaspee’s_ captain and wounded the few crew members that cared enough to defend him.

That wasn’t satisfactory to them, though, so they set it on fire.

Fire.

They set his ship _on fire._

And it burned all the way down to the waterline.

Canada was very busy laying on the couch and glaring at the ceiling, counting back from one hundred to calm himself down when America interrupted him.

“Hey, Canada, what are you doing?” America asked, jumping onto the couch and squashing Canada’s foot.

“Ow!”

“Sorry.”

“First, my natives. Then my ship. Now my foot. I swear, everything of mine just ends up suffering where you’re concerned.”

America chuckled uneasily. “What do you mean?”

Canada shut his eyes, taking deep breaths. “The _Gaspee,_ America. I’m upset about the _Gaspee.”_

“Oh. Yeah, sorry about that. If it makes you feel any better, the ship was technically England’s, not yours, so…”

His brother’s eyes shot open to glare at him harshly. “No. That doesn’t make me feel any better. I loved that ship.”

“They’re launching an investigation. This one is going to be different- I can feel it. When the perpetrators get caught, it’s going to be serious.”

“It’s not my goal to get your people executed for treason, America, no matter how crazy they are. I just feel frustrated.”

He nodded, trying his best to be empathetic. “Okay. Do you want something? Like a snack?”

“I want my ship back.”

“There’s still one more cookie in the jar from when Kaiya made her last batch.”

Canada felt some of his anger fade. “Yeah, that’s a good trade.”

America laughed, hopping up and going to get it. “Hey, where’s France?”

“At the bakery to grab some muffins from Mr. Jenkins.”

“Did he say how many he was getting?” America asked, returning to the couch and passing Canada the chocolate chip cookie.

“A dozen.”

“Good. I love those muffins.”

Canada chuckled, biting into his cookie. “I know.”

America sprawled out on the couch with a dramatic sigh. “I’m so tired.”

“Your elbow is in my stomach.”

He shifted. “Sorry. Have you read the report England sent us yet?”

“No. I figured I should wait for you. And you should send him a letter. Ignoring him won’t make your problems go away.”

“How do you know I’ve been ignoring him?”

“Because when I drop off the post, there’s never a personal letter from you to him, but when I collect it, there’s always at least one or two that you’re receiving.”

“You’re a snoop.”

“And you’re heavy. Get up,” Canada complained, shoving America off of him. His brother tumbled onto the floor in a heap, making Canada burst out laughing.

The front door swung open, and France stepped in, holding a box of muffins. He swung the door shut with his foot and looked at the brothers quizzically. “America? Why are you on the floor?”

“Canada pushed me!” America whined, pushing himself into a sitting position.

France tutted, amused. “Canada, mon cher, are you harassing _Amérique?”_

_“C’était sa faute!”_

America rubbed his head where it had hit the floorboards. “What’d you say?”

“He blamed it on you,” France answered.

“Canada!”

France laughed and set the box down on the counter. “Who wants muffins?”

“I do!” Canada said, getting up, but America pushed him out of the way to run and get first dibs on the biggest muffins. “My natives, my ship, my foot, and now, my muffins? _Va te faire foutre, America!”_

France gasped. “Canada!”

America shoved part of his muffin in his mouth and spoke through it. “Joke’s on you because I don’t know French.”

“I said-”

France shook his head, eyes wide and frantic as he cut him off with- “NO!”

*************

There were some things Canada _didn’t_ like. Among them was uncertainty. So when he ended up at a meeting of rebels, he wasn’t happy.

They were standing at the back of the tavern and leaning against the wall while America’s people discussed possible steps that they wanted to take. None of them were what one could call peaceful.

“I don’t like this,” Canada whispered for the twelfth time.

America rolled his eyes. “Then go home! But I’m staying because if I don’t, I won’t know what’s coming, and I’m sick of being surprised by stuff. Stuff like the _Gaspee._ But if you don’t care, you can leave.”

Damn. America had him there. He _really_ didn’t want any more of his ships to be burned.

“That wasn’t fair.”

“No one’s chaining you here, Mattie. If you want to leave, you should.”

“Whatever.”

The revolutionaries in the room all seemed to have the same mindset, and as one ranted, others would support him until they all frustrated themselves even more.

A fireplace was crackling in the hearth, and there were a couple of men warming their hands beside it. Near the door, a man was playing a lively tune on a fiddle, and clicks were heard as tin cups were set down and refilled. It was smoky but warm, and lanterns dotted the room to bring light to the bar and its patrons.

America went to get them some drinks so that they didn’t seem out of place. “Two beers, please.”

The man behind the bar poured alcohol into the tin cups. “There ya go. Here for the meeting?”

Canada panicked for a moment, but America was good at twisting conversations in his favor. “Sort of. Dropped in for a pint at first, but I’m thinkin’ we’ll stay and see what all the commotion is about.”

The bartender nodded. “They’re great for business, these so-called Sons of Liberty. And their new group tonight, the Committees of Correspondence, I think they said, is, too. But I worry that the redcoats will catch on someday.”

“You mean they haven’t already?”

He shook his head. “Nah. We don’t get many soldiers in here. It’s mostly revolutionaries and your average folks. But they buy drinks, so I’m satisfied.”

America laughed. “Just tryin’ to make money in this world, eh?”

“You know it. Got a family to feed, after all. Speakin’ of, that’ll be a sixpence and two shillings.”

The coins were handed over, the bartender nodding and thanking them before they headed back over by the group.

“And now they’ve wrecked our whole economy!” A man with a sharp face standing on a table was yelling.

“Aye,” “Here, here,” and “Damn right!” were among the responses.

“How much longer will we be slaves to the crown? How long until we take our lives into our own hands? How long until we rise up and seize our independence?”

People cheered enthusiastically as the man continued his speech.

“Who’s that?” Canada asked, pointing to the man on the table.

“Samuel Adams. One of the boldest patriot leaders we’ve seen yet. He’s a genius.”

“You sound impressed.”

“He’s violent at times and radical in his thinking, but he’s still brilliant. Who wouldn’t look up to him? Just watch him. See how he commands the crowd? Hear how well-worded his speech is? And he doesn’t write them in advance for things like this. He just goes up there and tells everyone exactly what he’s thinking. It’s incredible.”

Canada had to admit it; the man was articulate. He couldn’t help but feel a little inspired by his words, and he wasn’t even an American. If America idolized him, he couldn’t say that he blamed him.

If England were here, he’d be furious. But England wasn’t here, so they could stay and listen as long as they wanted, and Canada realized that he had changed his mind about wanting to leave. 

“If Watauga can do it, we can, too!” Adams declared.

A group of southern settlers formed their own society with their own government that year without much strife. Canada suspected the entirety of the thirteen colonies breaking away from the British government would cause a different reaction, but the men ate it up.

“Mr. Adams, do you have a plan?” One asked. “I support you, and the things you say are very inspiring, but how do you intend to go about accomplishing them?”

Adams grinned. “I’m so glad you asked, friend. It begins with rallying the people. True revolutionaries are few and far between. We must convince the people to push back by any means- pamphlets, speeches, protests, and other political actions.”

“But even if they side with you, wanting to declare our independence and fight for it is very different from actually doing it. Against the British, we are weak. How will we be strong, and how will we get the public to choose us?”

“Displays of power. The _Gaspee_ was burned ten months ago. Before that was the _Liberty._ Why? Because the death penalty will not stop freedom. We show our anger to officials by terrorizing them for their transgressions. Liberty poles are put up no matter how many times those redcoats cut them down. The bolder we get, the more people will respect us. And once we have the people on our side, we can raise an army.”

Clapping and more cheering.

“And the Dockyard Act!” Someone near the front cried.

“Ah, yes, the Dockyard Act. The king is weak, and it’s obvious. No ‘protection act’ will save his ships. That act is all he has done to stop us. And after _Gaspee?_ How many were caught?”

“Five!” A younger man answered.

“That’s right. Five. And no matter what that ridiculous decree said, none of the arsonists were sent to Britain for trial, _and_ they got away. Tell me, does that reflect the strength of the mighty British Empire?”

“No!” The people roared.

“No. Remember, my friends, we are patriots. We will not bend. We will not surrender. We will become a new nation, and we will break free of the tyranny of King George, no matter what it takes.”

************

May brought pleasant weather and a rare moment of peace, which they took full advantage of. Kaiya and Halona closed the bookshop, left River with America, got on their horses, and went west to their home for a break.

Safely tucked away in Oneida territory, Kaiya scooped up one of her little sisters, a three-year-old, to carry her through a brambly part of the woods. Her other siblings skipped and ran around her, playing with Halona’s younger brothers and sisters.

Halona was the second oldest in her family. Her mother’s first-born was Aliquippa, who had recently found a man to become one with and was pregnant. Over the years, she had taken care of all of Halona’s young siblings, meaning she had parenting experience. Kaiya was confident she’d be a good mother when the baby finally arrived.

Nowadays, over half of Halona’s siblings were old enough to be fairly self-sufficient, with the youngest, Deganiwidah, being ten. Despite this, they still needed someone around, so Aliquippa had been delighted to have a break from minding the children when Halona and Kaiya offered to take them all tree running. Kaiya’s siblings ended up coming, too, so that they could all play together.

Kaiya, the sixth-born, was in the middle of her family, following her brother, Kanatase, who was accompanying them. Kanatase had her two littlest brothers in his arms until they reached their destination.

“Here we are,” Kanatase announced. “Who’ll stay on the ground?”

“I will,” Kaiya volunteered, setting her sister down. “You two are the best tree runners anyway.”

Kanatase passed off the youngest of their siblings. “Alright. Come on, everybody.”

Halona helped the children climb up the notches in the tree they’d been searching for until they reached the top. It was a tall, sturdy oak with thick branches for all the kids to sit on.

“Now, remember, if you need help, stop and wait for us to come to you,” Kanatase instructed. Keep your eyes forward, stay at a pace you can maintain, and don’t fall.”

One of his little brothers laughed. “But, Kana, falling doesn’t happen on purpose!”

“Well, then, don’t have an accident. Alright, Halona. Lead the way.”

She crouched on a thick branch and started running across it, slow at first but gaining speed as she jumped between branches and swung to a new place. Since her childhood, she’d been the best at this in their tribe. It was exhilarating to leap between trees with potential death far below.

The little ones- six of Halona’s siblings and three of Kaiya’s, excluding Kanatase- followed her one by one, dashing across thick branches and swinging over gaps. Far below, Kaiya was at the starting point with the youngest ones.

It was similar to riding horses, Halona supposed. She got the same thrill from it, the one that made her feel alive.

By the time she paused to catch her breath, her followers were quite a bit behind her. She waited for them to catch up, Kanatase bringing up the rear to make sure that they all stayed together.

“You’ve _got_ to slow down, Halona!” Kanatase laughed. “The rest of us can’t keep up.”

One of Kaiya’s siblings groaned. “I’m tired. I wanna go back.”

“Alright,” said Kanatase. “I’ll go first this time since I’m facing the right direction.”

He stood from his crouch and started running, the children following behind. Halona wasn’t fond of the back. The slowness of her juniors restrained her, and it was frustrating when they kept stalling.

They returned to their starting point, and Halona swung down from the tree instead of climbing.

Kaiya set her brother down and stood, resting her hands on Halona’s waist. “Out of patience already?”

“Whatever,” Halona replied, kissing her softly.

Deganawidah made fake gagging sounds. “Ew! Kissing! Kanatase, they’re kissing! On the lips!”

Kanatase laughed and helped the last kids down. “That’s what couples do, Dega. You’ll decide it’s not gross someday.”

“No way. I’ll never kiss anybody.”

“Whatever you say.” He slung an arm around Kaiya’s shoulders. “You packed lunch, right?”

“Yeah, it’s in my bag. Where do you want to eat?”

“Here!” Deganawidah whined. “I’m hungry!”

“I want to go to the river,” Okwaho, Kaiya’s three-year-old sister, declared.

Several joined in with their agreement, and the older kids gave in, leading the others toward the river closest to their village.

The walk wasn’t long, and Halona found herself reminiscing. It was all so familiar, full of _her_ language, _her_ people, _her_ culture, and _her_ family, except for one key member: her mother.

If her mother were here, she would have fretted over their adventurous activities.

When Halona was a child, her mother always worried about her. She went off on her own to explore too often, swam across rivers with currents too strong, and took down game too big for her. Whenever she did something that should have been too difficult, her mother would briefly lecture her on safety, but she was always proud in the end.

There were times she missed her home and her childhood. In ‘civilized’ Boston, she couldn’t openly practice her religion- she and Kaiya had to save prayers for behind closed doors. She couldn’t flaunt her culture or heritage because it was considered savage and barbaric.

Most of all, she couldn’t be open about her relationship with Kaiya.

In most native cultures, people could love whoever they wanted and adopt whatever traits they wanted, even if it crossed into what was considered traditional for another gender. Men could watch the children and cook if they wanted. Women could lead hunts and cut down the tribe’s enemies if they wanted.

They called the people who did this in a greater degree ‘two-spirits.’ If a person born male realized that inside, they were a woman, they were a woman. If a person born female said they were a man, they were a man.

She didn’t understand the resistance to her culture in white people’s towns, but it was so strict. They were appalled by these ideas. The few natives who went to live in their cities were expected to become ‘sophisticated.’ That meant conforming to their standards, including those surrounding gender and attraction.

And the way she was thought of as lesser just because she was a woman was absurd to her, too. Like all other natives in her tribe, she had been raised knowing that all are equal in the eyes of the Great Spirit and that, if they lived their lives well, they would someday join the Good Spirit after their deaths. It didn’t matter if you were a man or a woman or something in between. What mattered was being a person that did the right thing.

Kaiya sat down in the grass, and Kanatase took a seat next to her. She shrugged off her bag and opened it up to distribute snacks to everyone.

“What’s in there for me?” Halona asked, plopping beside her and resting her head on her shoulder, shaking off the thoughts that plagued her.

“An apple and a cookie.”

“Cookie?”

“Cinnamon. The ones I made before we left.”

Halona gasped and swiped it, shoving the whole thing in her mouth and saying through her chewing, “I love your cookies.”

Kaiya laughed. “I know.”

“How is Bosin?” Okwaho asked.

“Boston,” Kaiya corrected. “Alright. We’ve made some wonderful friends, and Halona’s bookstore is doing well.”

Kanatase gave them a worried look. “I’ve heard that things there are… eventful. You’re both staying away from the commotion, right?”

“Yes,” Halona answered. “We don’t want to get involved much anyway. It’s their problem.”

“Good. Just watch out, okay?”

“We will.”

Deganawidah dug through Kaiya’s bag. “Do you have any more food? Whoa, is that a cookie?”

“Yes, it’s Halona’s, though.”

He frowned. “Oh.”

“You can have it, Dega,” Halona said. She was feeling nice today. It was rare that she got to see her little brother. The least she could do is spoil him a bit.

Her brother grinned and flung his arms around her. “Thank you!”

“No problem. Now get off.”

*************

The holidays were supposed to be a time of peace and happiness. Christmas was America’s favorite holiday, and there was nothing he loved more than spending it with family.

This year, he had Canada with him and, as a bonus, France. Kaiya and Halona had their own house, but they spent plenty of time with him at his residence. The only thing that could have made it better was England’s presence. Alas, he was not there. His return wasn’t scheduled until autumn the following year.

It was still nice to have the others. Gifts were piled up, and Canada had been the one to put the star on top of the tree with assistance from everyone else. Pilgrim especially liked it because pawing at garlands was one of her favorite activities.

The point was, he should have had a break now that the holidays came. Surely his colonists wouldn’t be upset about anything new!

Well, he was partially correct. They were upset, but it was about an act made in early May regarding tea taxes.

On the fifteenth, there was a knock on their door while everyone was relaxing by the fire. Halona and Kaiya were cuddled up on the couch. France was sipping wine and trying his best to teach America some French while Canada offered constructive criticism once in a while.

“Are you going to get that?” Halona asked.

“Oui,” America answered, getting up while Canada commented on him finally getting a word right.

He wasn’t expecting anyone, so why was someone knocking, especially considering it was night? What could they possibly want?

When he opened it, a man he recognized as one of the radicals gave him a pamphlet. “Here you go, Mr. Jones.”

“What’s this?”

“The Association of the Sons of Liberty’s have a message for you and all the citizens of Massachusetts. The people have spoken: the Tea Act is unjust without Parliamentary representation. Anyone assisting in executing this act is an enemy to the liberties of America.”

“...Well said?”

“Thank you. Adams scripted it. And he told me to inform anyone that had regularly attended meetings to meet at the Old South Meeting House tomorrow evening.” The man said, dropping his composed patriot facade.

America raised a brow. “Oh?”

“Yeah. I know, ‘It’s the holidays, calm down, Adams!’ Anyway, you don’t have to come, but I’d suggest it. Thousands have already agreed to be there. Might be worth the trip.”

“Sure, tell him I’ll come.”

“Sounds good. Have a good night.”

“You too.”

He shut the door as the man walked off and scanned the paper. It was the regular kind of rebel propaganda that was distributed, discussing injustices, wrongdoings, and underrepresentation. Nothing new.

France took the paper from him when he sat down. “Are you actually going?”

“Yeah. I’m just as upset about the Tea Act as anyone else. Maybe Adams has a plan for fighting back.”

“Or maybe he’s going to spark another dangerous riot,” Canada said pointedly. “The phrase for that would be _‘une sédition dangereuse,’_ in case you were trying to think of new ways how you’ll describe what will inevitably be the latest rebel disaster to England after it’s done.”

“Either way, I should be there. I was at the one in September anyway, so I might as well go to this one, too.”

Kaiya sighed. “So much turmoil. When do you guys get a break?”

“Never.”

France chuckled. “That’s right. Our lives are always… ah, what’s the word… _exigeante?”_

“Demanding,” Canada supplied.

“Ah, _oui,_ demanding. Thank you, _mon cher.”_

Halona brushed back some of Kaiya’s hair to kiss her on the cheek. “I’m glad we have spare time.”

She grinned. “Me too.”

*************

England put his quill away for the night and stretched. His back popped a couple of times, and he groaned. It had been a stressful day.

First, Parliament wanted to talk about the East India Company’s economic issues for hours, and then he had to deal with the backlash from the colonists about the Tea Act. When he got home, ready to just go to bed, Elizabeth hacked up a hairball on one of his rugs, putting the cherry on top of his shit show of a day.

He needed to do something recreational in the most severe way. Perhaps he could arrange a night of billiards with some of his coworkers or maybe even his brothers.

No, not his brothers. They made terrible company.

At least America was writing to him again. He’d received a personal letter earlier in the week discussing the general goings-on of his life. According to the message, Canada was visiting from the north. That was good- America needed someone around, or he got lonely.

While things with America himself were going well, they were not running as smoothly in his land.

Many merchant ships had been harassed to the point that they left without unloading their tea, thanks to the colonists and their unreasonable outrage. Why they were so keen on not seeing reason, England didn’t know, but he _did_ know that he had to do something about it soon.

But that wasn’t a problem for right now. Right now, England needed to go to bed.

He got up and went to his closet to fetch his nightclothes, changing before rinsing his mouth and rolling into bed.

Cold covers. That was what greeted him.

He hugged one of his pillows and tried to pretend it was America, sleeping softly beside him, but it wasn’t very convincing. America was warmer, and he would ramble on about unimportant things until he fell asleep. The pillow was quiet, and England missed those one-sided conversations.

Dissatisfied with his pillow, he turned over and looked at the framed picture on his nightstand. It was one of Northern Italy’s paintings, a small one on a rectangular canvas.

It looked to be set in the last century if the surroundings and clothes suggested anything. They were in a field of sorts, kissing with arms around each other, draped in their respective flags like cloaks.

A smile crossed his lips. Being away from America was difficult, but he’d get to see him again come autumn. He just had to wait.


	13. The Midnight Riot

"Once vigorous measures appear to be the only means left of bringing the Americans to a due submission to the mother country, the colonies will submit." -King George III of England

"The tea ship _Dartmouth_ cannot leave thanks to that bastard, Governor Hutchinson!" Samuel Adams declared. "And two more have arrived! The _Eleanor_ and the _Beaver._ Today is the last day before the tea will be forcibly taken from their hulls, and we will be subjected to the terror of British tax!"

People roared in disapproval, and America found himself wanting to cover his ears due to the volume. Just as the messenger last night had said, somewhere between 5,000 to 7,000 people were gathered at the Old South Meeting House, each angrier than the next.

"This meeting can do nothing further to save the colonies," Adams cried. "No matter how much we talk, the tyranny of King George remains!"

"We must take action!" One suggested.

Another agreed. "The raid! Let's have the raid!"

Ah, yes, the raid. It was a protest idea developed at the last meeting involving the destruction of British East India Company tea in response to Parliament's demands. The name wasn't very subtle, but the operation, as far as he was aware, wasn't known of by any British officers.

Adams faltered. "The meeting isn't over."

"The raid!"

"Yes, the raid!"

More shouts demanding the plan be put into action rang out. America found himself absorbing their energy, too. He was pissed. The taxes that had been imposed, the way England had been treating him, it was all too much.

He didn't care if it would hurt England's feelings to destroy a bunch of his tea. In fact, a small part of him wanted to hurt his feelings. He'd spent years doing the same to America; why shouldn't he give him a taste of his own medicine?

So America yelled, "The raid!"

Soon the mob was leaving, preparing for what they wanted to do. Having a disguise was imperative since what they were about to do was illegal, so America, along with his people, smeared soot and mud over their faces to hide their identities. Some dressed up as Mohawk natives, a choice symbolizing their identification with North America and not Europe. Others just liked the feathers.

A man beside America tapped under his eye. "Missed a spot."

He covered it with the grime. "Thanks. I'm Alfred."

"As if I'd tell you my name before we do this."

"Nice to meet you," America laughed. "Ready to raise a little hell?"

He gave him a devilish look. "You bet I am."

Alongside his newfound friend, America ran through the streets. Others were doing the same, headed to the shipyard and onto the first of the three ships- the _Dartmouth._

All around him, people were hefting crates and hurling them off the side of the ship.

Tea was sold in solid planks that people would shave off bits of to use at home. Each plank could last a person roughly a year, and America couldn't help but feel proud as he realized that they were destroying years and years worth of cargo.

The man he'd met earlier pointed to a crate. "Gonna help me lift that?"

"Sure." America grabbed one side and easily dumped it over the side of the ship. It splashed into the water loudly.

Despite all the chaos on the ships, no one stopped them. To be honest, the crowd with their torches, axes, and battle cries was probably pretty scary to anyone that was supposed to arrest them.

He threw crate after crate. With each one, he felt like he was getting a hit in against England. If England wanted to strip him of his rights, then fine! He'd strip him of his precious company that he fought so hard to protect.

"Whoa, Alfred, you okay?" America's new friend asked.

"Huh?"

"You've got a look..." He chuckled nervously, scratching the back of his neck.

Unfortunately, he was right. Anger was burning on America's face, getting hotter with each crate he threw into Boston Harbor.

"Oh. Yeah, I'm good. I think I got something in my eye." A bad lie, but at least he wasn't admitting to losing himself for a moment. "I'm fine."

"You sure?"

"Yeah, really," He assured him, wiping his forehead with his sleeve and smudging the soot onto the white fabric. That'd be a bitch to scrub out later.

But it was all worth it.

Maybe, after this, he'd finally get England's attention back. Maybe he'd realize that he'd been an ass and apologize. Maybe he'd come back to Boston and agree to give him his rights according to the constitution. And maybe, just maybe, he'd recognize that his priorities were out of order.

*************

America shut the door quietly, hoping not to wake up Canada and France, but as soon as he came in, the entrance to the study flung open, and they came out.

"America! What the hell happened?" France asked, very awake.

"Oh, god. You didn't." Canada said, seeing the soot and mud. "But you did, didn't you?"

America scowled. "He deserves it, and I don't regret a thing! So if you're about to lecture me, save it. England can go fuck himself."

France was bewildered. "I've missed something, haven't I?"

"It was this stupid idea the Sons of Liberty dreamt up," Canada told him. "They'd get all disguised and then throw the tea on the East India Company's ships into the harbor."

He gasped. _"Oh mon dieu!_ America, England is going to kill you."

"He can try! He chose his side when he passed the Tea Act. I've put up with _so much,_ France! I've dealt with taxes, I've dealt with unfair trials, I've dealt with my people being shot, with soldiers invading my house-"

"Okay, okay," France tried, but America was on a roll now, and his rant didn't stop.

"-I've dealt with him fucking up my trade, my ships, and my cities! I've dealt with him sending in the military to oppress my people! I've dealt with stamps and new currency and war with you all to try to keep him happy! But this is it! He chose that _goddamn company_ over me and showed exactly how much he valued me, so now he has to face the consequences!"

When he finished his shouting, America realized he had angry tears on his cheeks, so he stormed to the sink to rinse off his face. Canada was beside him immediately, rubbing his back comfortingly while he cleaned himself up.

"There, there, it'll be alright, America."

America stared at the water. It rippled when droplets dripped off his hair and face, but he couldn't see his reflection. The soot he'd partially scrubbed off made it too opaque. Again, he gathered handfuls of water and rubbed his cheeks aggressively to clean off the remaining grime. Finished, he let his hands fall to his sides.

"Why did he pick the company?" America whispered. "Why doesn't he love me?"

Canada sighed, opening the drawer to get a hand towel and dab off his brother's face. "I don't know."

"Why aren't I good enough for him? What about me is so unlovable that he'd abuse his power over me to help some fucking shipping company?"

France pulled America into his arms, hugging him. "Nothing, _Amérique,_ nothing. You're wonderful. It's England's fault if he doesn't see that."

"It's going to be okay," Canada said, joining the embrace. "France and I love you, and we're here for you, no matter what."

He hiccuped. "No matter what?"

"No matter what."

*************

"They did _what?"_ England demanded.

The boy winced. He'd only been hired a few weeks ago to help England when he was on Downing Street, and he wasn't enjoying the experience already. "Um, the colonists, sir. In Boston. They damaged the British East India Company's tea."

"How?"

"They, uh... Well, sir, they threw it into the harbor. From off the ships."

"How many chests of it?"

"Ah, 342, sir."

His eyes nearly popped out of his skull. "342? How much tea was that?"

"About 45 tons, sir."

"How much was it worth?"

"Somewhere around ten thousand pounds, sir."

He choked on air at the number. "You mean to tell me that about 100 colonists threw _ten thousand pounds worth of tea_ into the harbor- with British troops on nearby ships- and _no one stopped them?"_

If it was possible to melt under someone's stare, the intern was pretty sure he was about to. "Y- Yes, sir."

"Get out of my office."

"Yes, sir," He squeaked and dashed off.

England was fuming. He slammed his fist into his desk. How dare they? How dare a bunch of subjects (colonists, no less) destroy so much tea? Did they know how much damage they caused? Did they care?

And the question he most wanted to ask: did America know? Did he encourage it? Or, god forbid, did he participate? Somehow, England already suspected the answer was yes. He knew America was upset about the Tea Act, but for him to lash out like that was entirely uncalled for.

The rebellion was getting out of hand- England had ignored it for too long. He'd put up with protests. He'd put up with assaults against his military. He'd put up with armed resistance, refusal to pay taxes, treasonous meetings, speeches against his king, and so much more to try to keep the peace between himself and America. But he couldn't do it anymore.

No longer would he be passive in this affair. No longer would he let things slide. No longer would he listen to any of his lover's begging when it came to mercy for traitors. He was the British Empire, and it was time that the American colonies learned their place.

"Derek!" England called.

Reluctantly, the intern slunk back into England's office. "Yes, sir?"

"I want you to book me a ship for the colonies. The first, fastest one."

"Yes, sir."

"And I want you to tell Parliament to shut Boston Harbour down."

"Shut it down?"

"That's what I said, isn't it?" England snapped.

He flinched. "Yes, sir. I'll do that right away."

"Good. Oh, and Derek- get me a drink while you're at it. Something strong."

*************

France had to go home. He told the other personifications the day after the tea incident, much to their dismay, and he was packed within two days, ready to catch a ship back home.

To say that Canada was upset was an understatement. He hadn't left France's side once since he told him, even sleeping in his room.

France didn't want to leave Canada, either. He was like a son to him. But it had to be done. Despite stating this a thousand times, the brothers kept asking him to stay right up until they were on the dock, saying goodbye before he boarded.

"You don't know that England's coming for sure," America said. "So you don't really have to go."

France sighed, patting his shoulder. "I'm sorry, Amérique. But you know that he'll be headed this way without so much as a letter of warning after the harbor incident. If he finds me here, I'm afraid he'll murder us both."

Canada's eyes teared up. "We'll miss you."

"And I'll miss you, too. But I must go as soon as I can."

"That doesn't mean you have to go _today."_

"Canada, _mon cher,_ the likelihood of Boston Harbor closing is high, and I have to cross the sea to get home. And aside from the ship today, I know of no other that is headed to my land."

He sniffled. "I understand."

France held out his arms to America for a hug. "Goodbye, America."

"Goodbye, France."

Sighing heavily and forcing himself to stay strong, he turned to Canada. "Canada, _aide Amérique, je reviendrai. Je t'aime. Je t'aime tellement. T'es mon fils, ma famille. Tu me manqueras."_

Canada burst into tears, hugging him. _"S'il te plait, me quittes pas, Papa. Je t'aime, je t'aime!"_

_"J'suis désolé, mon cher. Nous nous reverrons."_

And with that French exchange, France got his baggage and boarded the ship, waving farewell.

America put an arm around his brother to make him feel better. "What'd you guys say?"

"He told me to help you and that he'd come back. He said that he loved me, that I was his son, and that he would miss me."

"Oh. What'd you say?"

"I asked him to stay and said that I loved him, too, but he apologized and promised that we'd meet again."

He gave him a little squeeze. "I'm sorry, Mattie."

Canada wiped away his tears and turned around, walking away from the port with America hurrying behind him. "Al, do you know why Arthur took me away from Francis?"

"He said it was economics."

His brother shook his head, laughing bitterly. "And you believed him?"

"Uh, he also said it was so that you and I wouldn't be in opposing empires."

"That's not true either."

"Then, why?"

"Because he hates him. He got a victory over him in that damn war and wanted to hurt him. So he ripped me away from the family I had with the other French colonies and forbade us from traveling to one another's lands, all so that he could keep us apart- so that I couldn't see my family."

America blinked, hurt. "But, Canada, _we're_ family. I'm your brother."

Canada glanced around, quickly checking to make sure no one heard America call him by his real name. It didn't seem that anyone did, though. "Of course we are. I love you, Alfie. But we'd been apart so long (which was also England's fault, by the way), so I found more family with Papa and all his colonies. You may be the only one I'm related to, but you and... you and mother aren't my only family."

He hardly knew what to say. "Oh."

"What, don't you have others you consider family?"

"Not really."

Now it was Canada's turn to be shocked. "Oh. I'm sorry, I didn't know that. I thought that... Well, I assumed you'd found other English colonies to make a family from since you didn't have Mother and me."

"I didn't. You're the only family I've got."

He unlocked the door when they arrived back home and let America in first. "I'm sorry. I wouldn't have said that if I knew..."

"It's okay. I want you to be honest with me."

"You're my favorite, though. And if I had to choose one person to keep as family, it'd be you."

That made him smile a bit. "I'm still your favorite?"

"Of course you are, 'Mer. Out of curiosity, though, why not?"

"Why not what?"

"Why didn't you find people to make a family?"

America shrugged, sitting down at the kitchen table. "I don't know. I didn't see many people, I guess."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I was always either living here or in London. Mostly in London because I barely saw anyone when I was here. You and I couldn't visit because of France and England's rivalry, no one really came to Massachusetts, that kind of thing. But when I was in London, I was with England almost all the time. He'd work and go on short trips a lot, but at least there was someone around, you know? I didn't have that here. And I visited France sometimes while England was away. Let's see... I stayed with Prussia for a week one time. We became fast friends. But I've only seen him once since then, anyway."

Canada gave him a pitied look. "I'm so sorry. That sounds... lonely."

"It was. But your experience with France wasn't like that?"

"No. Louisiana and I were best friends since she was the closest French territory to me. All of the West Indies that belong to Papa were my friends, too. Martinique was like the sister I never had. Senegal and I were close until England took her. Seychelles was like a sister to me, too. Trinidad and I never got along, though."

"Did you live with France most of the time or Quebec?"

"Quebec. I wanted to be at home. I miss my people too much if I'm away. But I visited Versailles pretty often because I got lonely. I get lonely a lot."

America chuckled. "Trust me, I know. Do you know how many times your crying woke me up in the middle of the night when we were kids?"

"Hey! I didn't cry that much! And you woke up crying all the time, too, because you had dreams that I faded."

"But that's a good reason to be upset. You just spontaneously needed attention from mom."

"Good times," He laughed. "Remember that time you tried to visit Jamestown, and you got stuck in one of the big snare traps, and mom had to come and get you?"

America cringed. He did, indeed, vividly remember hanging upside down by the ankle for the better part of two hours before Canada found him and got their mother. "Yeah, I remember that. She lectured me for hours after that about not visiting the settlements. But remember when she was teaching us how to ice fish, and you fell in your hole? Because I do, and it was hilarious."

"It was _not_ hilarious! I got stuck under the ice, and mom had to get me."

"Yeah, but you swallowed a minnow."

Canada couldn't help but crack a smile. "That was horrific. It was worth it to see you get in trouble for laughing at me, though."

"Whatever. She let me off easy. I only got a warning."

"Not true! You had to do my laundry for a month!"

"No, that was when you fell out of the tree by Eagle Rock, and I laughed instead of helping you."

He paused. "Oh, yeah. I completely forgot about that. You were a jerk."

"Says the one that put a raccoon in my bed. You totally abused your animal-bonding privileges."

"The wildlife _was_ always more fond of me, wasn't it?"

"Understatement of the year. That one time we woke up and our bed was full of random animals that decided to pay you a visit was one of the most startling moments of my life."

He burst out laughing. "You screamed so loud!"

"Did not!"

"Did too!"

"Alright, but it seems like a reasonable reaction when you wake up to a squirrel biting your nose."

Canada smiled fondly at the memory. "God, I miss those days so much."

"Me too."

"America?"

"Hmm?"

"What do you think happened to mom?"

He gulped. The lighthearted conversation had just taken a terrible turn. "I'm not sure, exactly."

"The last time I saw her, she left camp because you had been gone for a few hours. She was worried that you were trying to sneak a peek at the settlements again. But she never came back. And neither did you."

"What happened to you?" America asked quietly.

Canada swallowed dryly. "The Inuit cared for me for a while. Then Papa arrived. He told me that he would take care of me since my mother was gone, and I went with him happily. It had just been so long since I had someone that I could possibly call family. We went to Paris. He taught me a lot about French culture and stuff. Actually, maybe too much. It wasn't long before a lot of who I was before was gone. I mean, on the inside, I was the same, but I adopted his culture instead of mom's. He told me that England had taken you and made you his colony when I asked about you. But he described it differently than it was, as if he was mean to you or something. I thought you were some kind of prisoner, which was scary for a long time before I realized that it was just their rivalry that made Papa hate him so much and that he exaggerated."

"That was a lot like how it was for me."

"But what exactly happened?"

America looked out the window over the table, lost in thought. "I was playing in the woods and saw this cute deer. I picked it up to take it back to the village and show you and mom. But England showed up. He explained who he was and stuff like that and asked me to go with him."

Canada's eyes widened in hurt. "And you did? Just like that?"

"Not at first. But England promised that he would come back for you. I was about to leave when mom arrived." He began to get choked up. Canada took his hand. "She... She had her bow pointed at him, so he pointed his musket at her. She said that she wouldn't let him take me yet. Then she told me to run and I... I did. I ran away like a coward until England found me later. He said that he convinced her to let me come with him. So I went, and he 'civilized' me."

"Do you think he told the truth?"

"I don't know. That's the problem, Canada," America said, beginning to cry. "I abandoned her, and now I have no idea what happened to her. But the most sickening part is... what if he shot her? What if I went with her killer willingly? What if every time I kiss England, I'm kissing her murderer? What if I gave my life, my body, my soul, and my heart to the same person that-"

He couldn't continue.

Canada wasn't sure how to comfort him. He'd just heard the story for the first time and was still trying to get over the idea that his mother had a much higher chance of being dead than he thought.

"Do you... Do you think he did it?" Canada whispered.

America went back to looking out the window. "I don't know. I hope not. But if she _is_ alive... She'd hate me."

"What? Why?"

"Because I left her, Canada! I left her for England and changed into a whole new person. Now my people keep taking over native territory and... If she's alive, I'm terrified she wouldn't love me anymore."

Canada squeezed his hand tight. "She would. She could never stop loving you no matter what you did or who you became. You're her son."

He wiped his tears with the back of his hand. "I asked Kaiya and Halona about her."

"What did they say?"

"They'd never met someone who went by the name Adsila. But maybe they just forgot. You know, if she didn't stay with the Oneidas for a long time. Or maybe she didn't stay with them in their lifetime."

"Maybe. She always liked the Cherokee and Navajo most, even if she never admitted to having a favorite tribe. You know, I always thought it was odd that she personified so many of them. They're all so different."

"Yeah. But personifications and their existence have never made sense."

"I suppose," Canada said. "You know you need to talk to England about it, right? You can't let that fester."

He shrugged. "It's already been festering for over a hundred years. It can wait for a couple more." 

"That's not good for you."

"Neither is the Tea Act, but England didn't seem to have a problem with that."

He sighed. "He'll be here soon. Talk to him."

"We'll see."

*************

England had multiple weeks to reflect on the tea incident in Boston during his trip across the Atlantic. He'd spent long, tireless hours turning it over in his mind, searching for a way to convey his anger in a way that wouldn't be detrimental to his relationship with America.

He wasn't very successful, and it didn't help that he spent Christmas on the _Superior,_ in his room, alone, instead of by the fire with Elizabeth, as he'd planned.

New Year's was celebrated with a party on the ship full of champagne and horderves. There'd been a Christmas one, too, but England had been too depressed to attend.

He listened to delegates talk about their resolutions boredly. He never understood why humans saw the turning of the year as such a big deal, and he understood their need to make empty promises to themselves even less. 1774 was going to be just as terrible as 1773, as far as he was concerned- maybe even worse if the king didn't crack down on his overseas territories.

Sometimes he wondered how this happened. It seemed like only yesterday they were spending happy days in London, back before the war with France and all the turbulence that came after.

Things were mostly good last time America was in London. Maybe the physical separation from his land and angry people was good for him. Would bringing him back to London be beneficial? Could that fix things?

No, no, that wouldn't work. If America had, indeed, participated in the destruction of the tea, then there was no way he would want to go back to the capitol with England, and despite having the ability to, he didn't want to command or force him to leave.

And if he _wasn't_ directly involved, there was no reason to worry about him.

His king had ordered him not to be passive in this, though. England wasn't allowed to go to Boston to calm America and kiss him back into submission- he was there to confront him. He wasn't sure whether that was a good thing or not.

Plus, the former option sounded so manipulative. His relationship with America wasn't to tame him. First of all, that could never be done. Second, he loved America with all his heart. The fact that their relationship could ease his political anger was just a bonus.

Who knew? Maybe he was just cynical. Maybe the humans were right; maybe this year would be better. It wasn't exactly a fresh start, but it was as good a place as any to change his ways.

If pacifying America wasn't working, continuing to do so had no purpose. He couldn't expect to do the same thing over and over with any new results, so his days of mollifying and conciliation were over. America was going to have to take ownership of what happened.

If he was lucky, he could give the colonists their penalties and still be allowed to sleep in the bed.

Scratch that. He was the British Empire. Why should he let America tell him what to do? He'd sleep in the bed if he bloody well pleased. And if America had a problem with it, he could be the one to use the couch.

It was time America remembered who the hell he was dealing with.


	14. Canon in D Major

“My heart overflows with everything for you, that admiration, esteem and love can inspire. I would this moment give the world to be near you only to kiss your sweet hand. Believe what I say to be truth and imagine what are my feelings when I say it. Let it awake your sympathy and let our hearts melt in a prayer to be soon united, never more to be separated.” -Alexander Hamilton

The door of America’s house swung open with a bang.

He leaped off the couch, grabbed the nearest item, a poker for the fire, and held it out defensively.

Canada skittered back until he saw who it was. “England?”

It was, indeed, England. He dropped his bags and whipped off his coat, not bothering to hang it up and tossing it aside while he stormed toward America.

He’d already put the poker down, and now he was regretting it.

“Ten thousand pounds!” England declared. “That’s how much money I lost thanks to your people and their little tea riot!”

America blinked. “Good to see you, too, England.”

“Did you help?”

“What?”

“The rioters- did you help them? Were you there, throwing crates into the ocean with them?”

“I-”

“Yes or no?”

America set his jaw. “Yes. And I regret nothing.”

“Three hundred and forty-two chests, and you have no remorse?”

“Nope.”

“You know how hard I’ve been fighting to keep the British East India Company afloat! Why the hell did you do this?”

“The Tea Act, England! You _still_ won’t respect my right to representation under British law! It says it right there in your Bill of Rights- for the government to tax my people, we must have a proxy in Parliament!”

Canada cleared his throat awkwardly. “Uh, I think I’m going to go visit the girls. I’ll be back in an hour or two. Um, nice to see you again, England.”

Neither acknowledged him when he left in a hurry with his shoes only halfway on.

“I can’t believe you,” England hissed. “Do you have no regard for my feelings at all?”

America scoffed. “Oh, that’s rich coming from you. I don’t understand why you can’t just let me have a delegate!”

“I stand in for you!”

“I don’t want you to! You’re not American!”

He scowled. “Oh, so that means I don’t have your best interest at heart, right? Because I’m English, I couldn’t possibly be capable of making good decisions for British America?”

“Yes!”

“Do you realize how absurd you sound?”

“Do you realize that you’re violating my rights?”

“You’re a colony! A colony’s role is to do what the motherland says, provide support for the empire, and shut your mouth about it! Why can’t you get that through your head?”

“Because I’m not just your colony! I’m your partner, and I deserve better than this!”

England inhaled sharply, and his voice went from a rage-filled yell to an eerily calm monotone. “Deserve better, hmm? Do you want someone else? Someone beside me? Someone better?”

America groaned. “That’s not what I meant.”

“No, no, it’s fine. I’m curious, America. Just who exactly did you have in mind? Spain, maybe? Prussia? Maybe Portugal or Austria? Even Hungary or China? Yes, I’m sure they’ll be much better significant others than me.”

“Stop it. I meant that I deserve better treatment from you. I don’t want anyone else. I just want you to be fair to me.”

England sighed. “America, I’m doing my best, but I am not Parliament or the king. I am a personification, and I can’t control my government. But you make my job so much more difficult whenever you go on one of your little rampages.”

He wouldn’t meet his eyes. “Why did you choose them over me?”

“What?”

“You chose the British East India Company over me.”

England shook his head in confusion. “I don’t understand.”

“When it came to deciding whether to respect my rights or support the British East India Company, you chose the company. I want to know why you chose it over me.”

“Oh, America,” England said, eyes softening. “I didn’t choose the East India Company over you. I wanted to support their business. They’re key to our economy. To let them crash would be to let you crash as well.”

America shifted. “I guess I didn’t think of it like that.”

The empire went to him and cupped his face sympathetically. “America, my love, you always come first. Don’t ever doubt that.”

“But you shut down my harbor.”

“It’s for your own good. Your people need to understand that there are consequences for their actions and that they can’t just do whatever they please regardless of the damage it does. They need discipline. Otherwise, this will just keep getting worse for both of us.”

He had a good point, and America found himself sinking onto the couch, eyes wet and breath shaking. This wasn’t what he wanted to be doing. He wanted to be yelling and arguing and _winning,_ but somehow, he still ended up with his head in his hands and England’s arms around his torso while he murmured reassurances into his ear.

“There, there, darling,” England whispered as his tears slowed. “It’s alright. We’re going to be okay, hear me? I know that politics are tense, but we’re alright. Come here.”

America fell into his arms, wanting the comfort of England more than he wanted to win their forgotten argument. England held him close, stroking his hair and peppering kisses across his cheeks.

England was regretting fighting with America the moment he came home. Shouting and getting his frustrations out wasn’t worth America’s tears. Bunching his hair in his fingers and inhaling his smell was a good consolation, though. His favorite thing to do was care for his colony, and he took pride in doing it well most of the time.

So much more for asserting himself, he supposed.

By the time Canada returned (later than he said he would), America had fallen asleep in England’s arms while they lay on the couch.

“Are you guys…?”

“Yes, we’re finished,” England said, looking down at his softly breathing colony and rubbing his back. “America’s asleep, so stay quiet.”

Canada turned the knob of the door before shutting it so that it didn’t make noise and silently took off his shoes. “How are you?”

“Fine. He said his piece, I said mine, and we got to the root of the issue.”

“Ah. The ‘choosing the company’ part?” He asked while hanging up his coat.

England nodded reluctantly. He guessed he shouldn’t be surprised or disappointed that Canada knew all about America’s woes. Talking to his brother was healthy for him. It did make England a tad uncomfortable, though.

Canada sat down in the armchair beside the couch. “I’m glad you two worked through it.”

He nodded and brushed a piece of America’s hair away from his peaceful face. “Me too.”

“England?”

“Hmm?”

Hesitation. Then, “Can I be honest with you, even if I’m your colony?”

What kind of question was that? “Yes.”

“And can I give you some advice?”

That was a less appealing question. “I suppose.”

Canada rested his chin on his palm and looked at his brother. “You need to do better.”

“What do you mean?”

“He loves you. When you’re not here, he talks about how much he misses you all the time. He’ll spend hours in his room reading- well, I don’t know if you know this, but he saves all the love letters you send him in this small grey box- anyway, he’ll read them over and over. And god forbid you catch him in one of his annoying, floaty, England-is-the-best moods because he’ll go on and on about you until I have a headache.”

England’s face flushed, and his eyes flickered back to America, whose gentle breath and angelic sleeping face made him all the more endearing as England slipped his hand into his. “Really?”

“Yes. Just ask Kaiya or Halona. But he also ends up going off about you a lot.”

“Oh.”

“Whenever something happens- like the Tea Act, the massacre, the Stamp Act, the Quartering Act, or whatever else, he’ll fume around and be angry. And he’ll act like that’s all he is- mad. But the truth is that he’s hurt. Very hurt. Because when you love someone as much as America loves you, it’ll kill you when they betray you. If you aren’t more careful, he’s going to strike back.”

“He already has.”

Canada scoffed. “What, with the tea? Or the ships? That’s not what I mean. He can only take so much, England, and once he believes that you’ve done more wrong to him than right, he’ll turn. And we both know how firey he is. If he truly decides to fight back, it’ll ruin both of you, inside and out.”

“What do you mean by fight back?”

“Every day, more Americans are calling for independence. Surely this has already crossed your mind.”

England blanched. “I- Well, yes, but-”

“He’s _America,_ England. He’s headstrong and determined and resilient. If you keep treating him the way you’ve been treating him, he’s going to want freedom. And if you don’t give it to him, he’ll take it.”

“No. He’s- He wouldn’t…” England looked back at America and felt his heart sink. Deep inside, he knew Canada was right. But America- his America- could never do that. He’d never rebel at that kind of scale. He’d never commit treason. “If he loves me so much, he couldn’t.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. Sometimes, love isn’t enough. And sometimes, in a backward way, love is the motive for something like that. Maybe he’ll decide that you can’t be together unless you’re equals and that he has to separate from you before he can love you.”

“But we _are_ equals.”

“It’s not me you need to convince.”

England swallowed dryly. “How would we have a relationship while we’re at war?”

Had the situation not been so serious, Canada would have laughed. “England, do you not understand? You wouldn’t have one.”

“Have what?”

“A relationship. If you don’t change your ways, he’s not just going to separate from you politically, but personally.”

Canada’s words were like a punch in the face for England. Of all the possibilities he’d considered, he’d never once thought that there was any real danger of America leaving him.

“What do I do?” England whispered.

America stirred, and England realized that his grip on his hand had tightened considerably. He released the tension and held his breath as his colony shifted and stilled. A moment later, the rise and fall of his chest was steady again.

“Honestly, I don’t know,” Canada said quietly. “All I know is that if you don’t get your act together, you’re going to lose him.”

*************

England tried to heed Canada’s advice. He really did. But he’d already ordered the implementation of the Boston Port Act to close the harbor and punish the colonists until they paid for all the tea they destroyed. America pretended it didn’t bother him, but England could see how his grip on his quill would tighten whenever he brought it up or dealt with business related to it.

It was one of four acts called the Coercive Acts (or, as protesting colonists had taken to calling them, the Intolerable Acts), which would begin at different times. One of the four acts was a renewal of the Quartering Act.

He knew America would find out eventually, but he did his best to keep the information about the bills away from him personally, which he was actually pretty good at.

America could tell something sketchy was going on, but he didn’t want to pick at the issue. He had other problems to worry about, like the political dynamic in his land changing incredibly quickly.

There was one thing in Boston he could count on, though: the Jenkins’ Bakery.

“A dozen blueberry muffins, please,” America ordered.

Robert Jenkins smiled. “Sure thing, as soon as I finish kneading this dough. I saw Arthur is back in town. Is he staying with you and your brother?”

“Yes. Arthur wanted to come with me, but he has too much to do. He said to tell you hello from him, though.”

“Well, tell him I say hello back. How are things, Alfred?”

“I’m fine. How are you? Are those two soldiers still living in your house?”

Mr. Jenkins sighed heavily and sprinkled some flour on the dough he was kneading before digging his hands back in. “Unfortunately.”

“I’m so sorry. I know what that’s like.”

There was some bustling before a door opened, and Mrs. Jenkins swept in. She had a tray of uncooked pastries in one hand and their six-month-old daughter, Laura, held against her hip in the other.

Alfred smiled. “Amelia! And Laura!”

Mrs. Jenkins returned the expression. “Ah, Alfred!”

“Here, let me help you,” he offered, extending his arms and expecting to take the tray, but she lifted little Laura and passed her over instead.

“Thank you!” She set the tray down on the back counter and gave Mr. Jenkins a quick kiss on the cheek as she breezed past.

The Jenkins family was adorable, in Alfred’s opinion. Mr. and Mrs. Jenkins adored each other and all three of their children- a fifteen-year-old daughter named Emma, their son, Jordan, who was always getting sick, and, of course, baby Laura. They all had blond hair and brown eyes, aside from Amelia and Jordan, who had blue eyes. They were the epitome of domestic bliss, all working together in the bakery and cooperating. The church regularly received donations from their family, despite them not having very much money, Mr. Jenkins was always first on the scene when there was a fire, and Mrs. Jenkins helped deliver babies when Boston was short on midwives. Soldiers invading their home was just wrong. It was wrong no matter who suffered for it, but it had a whole new layer of wrongness with the Jenkins.

Mrs. Jenkins had a bruise on her cheek that Alfred was certain came from one of the soldiers, and when Emma carried in a sack of flour, he noticed one on her forehead.

“Emma!” Alfred greeted.

“Hello, Alfred. Back for more muffins?”

“That and to check in on my favorite family in all of Massachusetts!” He said, bouncing Laura until she giggled a bit.

Mrs. Jenkins put a hand over her heart. “Alfred, you are too kind.”

“Is Alfred here?” A voice called. Jordan came in, hair tousled and eyelids droopy.

“Jordie! What are you doing out of bed!”

“Mama, I’m fine.”

“I wouldn’t call a fever fine!”

“But Alfred is here!” Jordan said, as if that would change everything. He’d always looked up to America, and America loved him, even though he wanted to follow him around everywhere on the rare occasions when he was well enough to.

America crouched to be at eye level with Jordan, sure to keep a good grip on Laura. “Your mother is right, buddy. You need to rest or you won’t get any better.”

He surrendered with a pouty, “Okay.”

Mrs. Jenkins scooped him up and took him upstairs to tuck him in while America cooed at Laura. She was a happy baby, rarely crying and almost always grinning. Sometimes he wished that he could stay here at the bakery forever.

“Emma, honey, why don’t you get Alfred a dozen muffins?” Mr. Jenkins suggested. “I’m still working over here.”

“Sure.” She set the flour sack down. “What kind do you want?”

“Blueberry, please.”

She nodded and collected his muffins, swapping the food for her little sister. “You should come back again soon. It’s nice to have friendly company, and you could bring Arthur with you.”

“I will,” He promised, accepting the muffins. “Have a good day!”

“You too!” Mr. Jenkins called as he stepped out the door.

Boston was lively. April had just begun, and America was happy to welcome spring and the new life that came from it. Children played, birds sang from their egg-filled nests, and rain often fell to hydrate the earth.

He unlocked the door and came into his house. “I’m home!”

England and Canada got their muffins straight away, ecstatic.

“How are the Jenkins?” Canada asked, mouth full.

“Not great, actually. England, I was wondering if you’d be willing to make them a pardon from the Quartering Act. I know it expires soon, but they really need one.”

“I’m afraid not, America. I have to draw the line on those somewhere.”

He frowned. “Well, why can’t you make the line after the Jenkins family?”

“Because I told you when I wrote the ones for Kaiya and Halona that they were the last ones I was going to do.”

America stared at him. “But, England, they-”

“No ‘but’s. I’m sorry, love.”

He scowled and stormed upstairs, leaving England with just Canada, who looked at him pointedly. “That’s exactly the opposite of what I said.”

“Shut up, Canada.”

*************

That afternoon, America, Canada, and England all ended up at the tavern with Kaiya and Halona to play cards and spend time together.

“Are you sure you’re not cheating?” America grumbled to Halona.

She shrugged. “What can I say? I’m great at blackjack.”

America huffed. Then he had an idea. A devious idea. An idea that he could put into action right here, right now.

“I finished my drink. Do any of you want a refill while I’m up?” He asked, standing.

“Me!” Canada handed his cup over. “Thanks, Al.”

“Don’t mention it.”

He left the table and went to the bar to smile at the bartender. “Good evening.”

“Good evening. Refills?”

“Yeah, ale, please.”

The bartender nodded and began to pour their drinks. The community of people who had romantic relationships with others of the same sex wasn’t loud. Still, being part of that group, America knew who the other members were, even if it wasn’t openly discussed. And this bartender was one of them. Even better- he was unattached.

“Your name is Eugene, right?” America asked.

He nodded. “That’s me. And you’re Alfred?”

“Yes. I came with my brother and friends,” America said, indicating the group.

“I see. Friends and companion,” Eugene said with a knowing look.

“Actually, no.”

“No? Oh, forgive me, I-”

“No, I mean, I wouldn’t classify him as a companion,” America lied.

Eugene sighed in relief. “I see. Casual, then?”

“Casual. I’m always open to new ideas, people, that kind of thing.” He said with a subtle wink.

“Oh,” Eugene replied with a smirk.

“Have you a companion, then?”

“No. I did a year or so ago. But not anymore. I’m… Also open to new opportunities.”

Back at the table, England was getting impatient. They had to pause the game to wait on America’s return, and he’d been gone a while. How long did it take to get some ale and walk back?

He leaned to the side to peer at the bar behind Kaiya. America was there, two full cups beside him, laughing at something the bartender said.

England glanced back at his tablemates. “The blond bartender. What’s his name?”

“Eugene,” Halona answered. “Why?”

“Is he one of us?”

She turned around and spotted America talking with Eugene. Both were leaning against the counter, slightly closer than was typical for acquaintances and smiling. “Yes. But last I heard, he had a partner.”

Kaiya shook her head. “No, his partner left him last February. He’s available.”

“Not for much longer,” Halona mumbled.

England shot her a glare. “Haha. Very funny.”

Back at the bar, Eugene asked, “So did you hear about Doctor Benjamin Franklin?”

“What about him?”

“He’s coming back from London after being questioned by Parliament. He offered to pay for all the tea if the government will stop punishing us.”

America nodded. “Ah. Yes, I heard. They said no, though. I can’t see why, but…”

“Let’s forget the news,” Eugene said, waving it off. “I’d rather get to know you. Who is the real Alfred F. Jones? Where are you from?”

“I’ve mostly lived here. Although, I take extended trips overseas sometimes. You?”

“I’m from Richmond, Virginia. But this city has certainly become home.”

“You can’t beat Boston.”

Eugene laughed, then glanced around to be sure no one was close enough to be listening. “Hey, what do you say we get out of here? There’s another guy working tonight that owes me a favor; he could take over for me. Maybe we could head back to my place.”

“He’s busy,” said a frigid voice.

America turned to see England staring at Eugene like he’d kill him. “Oh, Arthur. Did you want a refill, too?”

“Shut your mouth. We’re going home.”

His tone made America decide that objecting wasn’t in his best interest. He smiled apologetically at Eugene. “Sorry. We’ll catch up more later, yeah?”

“No, you will not. Now hurry up,” England commanded.

Giddy but hiding it well, America slunk out of the tavern behind England, who was heading straight for home.

“What about Matt and the girls?” America asked.

“They’ll be fine.”

When they reached the door, England tugged off his cravat to tie it around the door handle, and America knew he was in for it.

His lover shoved him inside and locked the door behind them. He slammed their lips together, fingers fisting America’s hair and dragging him into the study to throw him down on the table in front of the fireplace.

“What the fuck did you think you were doing?” England hissed, pinning America’s wrists onto the table on either side of his head.

America feigned innocence. “What do you mean?”

“You know _exactly_ what I mean.” England shifted to hold both of America’s wrists above his head in one hand. He used the other to begin undoing the buttons on his colony’s vest. “Why were you flirting with Eugene?”

“I wasn’t flirting, _per se,”_ America defended. “It was more like implying things that would never happen to get you riled up.”

“And why would you do that?” England demanded, successfully taking America’s vest and shirt off.

He smirked. “Mostly for this.”

England rolled his eyes and began undressing. “If you wanted to have sex, all you had to do was ask.”

“But that’s not as fun. Plus, if I make you mad, you get rough.”

His laugh wasn’t very humorous when his hands latched onto America’s hips. “You’re such an insubordinate, disobedient, rebellious little-”

America cut him off by kissing him and tugging at his lip. “Well then, I guess you better make sure I fall in line.”

“I guess so.”

*************

England gently guided America’s hand over the piano keys to press a B flat. “Like that.”

“Oh. I kept trying to use my pinkie.”

“I know. That was all that was getting in your way. Try it now.”

America furrowed his brow in concentration. His eyes read over the sheet music on the piano in front of him, glancing down at his fingers once in a while. He was a good piano player, though not as good as England, who was trying to help him with a singular measure of an otherwise mastered piece- Canon in D Major.

“There you go, you’re getting the hang of it,” England encouraged. “Pachabel would be proud.”

He smiled and kept playing. “Well, I don’t know about that, but thank you.”

After waiting for a few measures, England joined in, playing a higher harmony alongside America. With both of them working together, the music lifted and fell like waves on the ocean, and the lilting song filled the house with its weeping melody.

Their hands brushed occasionally, and, for some reason, it made each of their stomachs do somersaults like when they were a new couple and each step forward was uncertain yet addicting.

Playing the piece was also like that. Each note began tentative and soft but grew in not only volume, but emotion. Their hands crossed, their hearts beat in sync, and gradually, America felt everything else disappear.

England’s close seat on the bench, the occasional touch as his fingers crossed over and fell back rhythmically, and the warmth of the fire burning in the hearth made his head light.

They slowed as they approached the last chorus. Even their breath paused between each press of the keys.

Each was caught there, suspended in time. Between each note were a thousand words. Things left unspoken, confessions, apologies, hushed truths, and quiet professions of ‘I need you.’

It was everything. If America had died then and there, he wouldn’t have noticed when he reached heaven because, to him, he was already there. How could it be Earth with the music and the occasional flash of England’s green eyes glancing over at him between crescendo and sforzando? How could he live when he was looking over once in a while to see England’s little smile whenever they both struck a chord simultaneously, or the last chorus began, and they moved into forte? When G rose to D to a higher G and B before falling back down to a ledger line D, how could he possibly be bound by reality?

All too soon, they hit the final cord, and it ended. For a moment after, neither made a sound. The resonance of the song was still vibrating through them until England smiled and brushed back a piece of America’s hair that had fallen into his face.

“I told you Pachabel would approve.”

America leaned forward the tiniest bit and pecked England’s cheek. “Thank you for helping me.”

“Anything for you, America.”

It was their foreheads that touched first, then, slowly, their lips- savory and laced with a kind of sanctimonious zeal that stole all other thought away.

Canada cleared his throat awkwardly, and the two jumped apart.

“Oh, Canada, I didn’t hear you come in! I thought you went to the market,” America said, laughing breathlessly.

“I did, but that was a while ago. Nice playing,” Canada complimented.

“Thanks,” England replied, scratching the back of his neck. “Well, I’ve got work to do, so…”

America nodded, still disoriented from the dizzying kiss they’d exchanged only moments ago. “Right, yes, me too. We should, uh, do that.”

“Precisely.”

Canada laughed. “You want me to go out on a walk or something so you can have some alone time?”

“No!”

“Well, good, because I’m growing tired of returning home to England’s cravat tied around the door handle.”

Both flushed red, and England cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Sorry about that.”

“No problem. Trust me, I’d rather you leave it there than walk in on you and my brother. Now, are you going to help me with dinner, America, or not?”

*************

“Have a good day,” Halona said with a fake smile as a customer left the shop. It dropped the moment the door shut. “I hate that guy.”

Kaiya laughed, setting down a crate of new books that had just arrived behind the counter. “Why?”

“He comes in here every Tuesday at three o’clock exactly to wander around, take some books off the shelf, put them back out of order, and then not buy anything. It’s like he’s trying to make it seem like he’s educated or something to people outside here. Like, he’ll say, ‘Oh, sorry, I always go to the bookshop at three, maybe we could do something at four?’ to sound literate.”

“Maybe he just can’t find a book he likes.”

“I’ve tried to help him before. I asked him what his favorite book was, and can you guess what he said?”

“I’ve no idea.”

“Heptaméron by Marguerite de Navarre.”

She frowned and began fixing the order of books the customer had just messed up. “I’ve never heard of that.”

“Of course you haven’t. That’s because it’s a composition of under-whelming short stories by a Frenchman that thinks he’s the pinnacle of literary eloquence.”

“So what did you recommend him?”

“The Tale of Genji by Murasaki Shikibu.”

“Oh, that one’s interesting. You’re so good at your job. Some guy comes in with an obscure favorite book, and you’ve not only read it, but you have a deep enough understanding of books to know what else he’d like.”

Halona’s cheeks reddened. “Thanks. Anyway. I hate that guy.”

“Noted.”

*************

“So, I was wondering,” America began in a tone that England was all too familiar with, “about the Massachusetts Government Act.”

“Yes?”

“When exactly do you think that might be expiring?”

England kept his eyes on his work. Looking at America would make the whole thing much more difficult. “Not sure, love.”

“Okay. How about the Administration of Justice Act?”

“Sorry, darling, I don’t know about that one, either.”

“Alright,” America said tightly. “I understand. It’s just that your government is forbidding my people to meet together, you know? And they’re getting shipped all over for trials, so they can’t work and feed their families. It’s fine. I just was hoping you could look into that.”

Ugh. Somehow, America trying his best to be cooperative and non-confrontational about the Coercive Acts was worse than him being upset. It just made England feel guilty. He appreciated the effort, though.

America was truly such a good lover. He was kind, selfless, and flexible. He’d tell him he loved him whenever he felt like it, he didn’t hold back his feelings, and he always put England first. And as independent and rebellious as America was, he didn’t actually tend to be incompliant. He was very agreeable most of the time and always eager to please in any way, shape, or form. More often than not, he reminded England of an excited puppy that wanted nothing more than food and love.

“I know, honey. I’m sorry. I’ll write to Parliament right now. How’s that?”

He smiled a tiny bit, but it seemed forced. “That’s great. Thanks, Iggy.”

“Anytime. How are the issues with the natives and Lord Dunmore in Virginia?”

“Horrible,” He admitted, sitting down beside him at the table. “A little over twenty days ago, there was a massacre at this place in Ohio country called Yellow Creek.”

“There was?”

“Yes. It was… disgusting and brutal. Some colonists offered natives drinks and invited them to play sports in an apparent show of good faith. But they attacked them and killed them. There was a man there named Jacob Greathouse, he ripped open a pregnant native woman’s stomach and pulled out her unborn son to scalp him. Only one person made it out: a two-year-old girl. The poor thing will probably be horrifically traumatized for the rest of her life.”

England’s eyes were wide. “Oh my god.”

“They’re lumping it in as part of Dunmore’s war against the natives, but if you ask me, it was just an unprovoked, savage, racist attack.”

“What are you doing with the attackers?”

“That’s the problem. I can’t do anything. Since Dunmore is classifying it as a battle, the men are getting off scot-free. Their poor chief, though. His sister was the pregnant woman, and he also lost his wife, brother, and son. It’s just sick. He was a friend to the settlers there, England. He helped them, traded with them, always kept the peace. Dunmore and his men are barbaric.”

He sighed, rubbing America’s shoulder and giving his temple a kiss. “You’re right, sweetheart. I’m sorry you have to deal with all this. Lord Dunmore will get what’s coming to him one day, though. And so will that Greathouse fellow.”

“It feels like the natives are suffering more and more every day. And they’re losing so much: land, people, resources… I don’t understand it.”

“What do you mean?”

America slowly set down his quill. “England, we need to talk about something.”

Oh, Christ. “What is it?”

“The things happening to the natives. It’s in line with what has happened when personifications in the past have died. Their people shrink in number, lose their territory, and may even go extinct. So, I’ve been thinking about my mother a lot recently.”

England sucked in a breath. “I see.”

“That day in the woods,” America said, making direct eye contact and choking back his fear. “It was the last time she was seen. She never went home to Canada. Neither of us has heard anything about her since. For a long time, I’ve just told myself she was missing, and that was all there was to it. But I can’t let my concerns fester anymore. After I ran, what happened?”

He wasn’t prepared for this conversation, and England fumbled for words. “I told you what happened. I talked to her and-”

“-And she changed her mind. She said that I could leave with you. But you have to realize how feeble that explanation sounds from my perspective. I need to know what happened to her.”

“Are you accusing me of having something to do with Native America’s disappearance?”

“I’m asking you to tell me what happened. It’s eating me up inside, England. You were the last one to see her alive. You had your musket pointed at her. You had reason to get her out of the way. If you did… I need you to tell me. I need to know.”

“America-”

“Whatever you say, I’ll still love you. I could never stop loving you- ever. But we need to work through this because if I keep this to myself, it’ll ruin us.”

England’s chest tightened. “Sweetheart, I didn’t shoot her. I can’t believe that you thought I did. Darling, I’m so sorry you’ve been dealing with this. I can’t imagine being afraid the person you’re with murdered your mother. How long have you been worrying about this?”

America refused to cry. “I don’t know. It became a conscious concern sometime around the turn of the century.”

“So, 74 years? Oh, love, come here,” England said, pulling America into his arms. “I swear to you; I didn’t kill her. We argued, but nothing got physical, and eventually, she gave in. She was upset about it, but she consented. And then she left. I don’t know what happened to her after that, but I promise you, from the bottom of my heart, I didn’t hurt her.”

His arms wrapped around England, and he felt his mind calm at last. The tone of his voice, the look in his eyes, and the tenderness of his touch told America that he was telling the truth.

“I’m sorry,” He whispered, still refusing to cry. He’d been doing too much crying lately.

“You don’t have to be. You’ll see her again, ‘Mer. I’m sure of it.”


	15. Truth Will Out

“Always stand on principle, even if you stand alone.” -John Adams

Kaiya took Halona’s hand and interlocked their fingers, swinging their arms a little as they walked. It was a temperate day for June, so they had decided to go on a walk outside the city where they could do things like hold hands freely.

“I’m hot,” Kaiya remarked.

Halona rolled her eyes playfully. “Your dress is even lighter than mine. How are you hot?”

“The sun is shining, ‘Lona!” She protested.

“It won’t in a few minutes. It’s going to rain,” said Halona, pointing at the gray clouds rolling in. “I told you that taking a walk was a bad idea.”

“What, you mean you don’t want to get caught in a storm with me?” Kaiya teased as the sky rumbled.

“It’ll ruin my boots.”

“Take them off.”

Halona shrugged, kneeling to remove her shoes. Kaiya copied, setting them under a bush and tugging Halona into the grass so that their feet weren’t assaulted by the rocks in the road.

“We’ll grab them on the way back,” Kaiya said as it got a bit dimmer. “They’ll be kind of dry under there.”

“No, they won’t. But that’s okay. You’re worth it,” Halona said, giving Kaiya a cheek kiss.

With one more groan, the sky split, and it began to rain. It was much harder than Halona had anticipated based on the clouds’ color, and she was completely soaked in seconds.

Kaiya laughed. “You’re drenched!”

“So are you!”

She grinned and took Halona’s other hand. “Come on. Dance with me.”

“You know I’m no good at dancing.”

“But there’s no one here but you and me,” Kaiya said, beginning to sway.

Halona couldn’t help but crack a smile and spin Kaiya around. “Alright, alright. How was that?”

“Good! You’re a natural!” Kaiya exclaimed. Her eyes sparkled with joy, and upon seeing them shining back at her, Halona was speechless.

It was too good to be true. _Kaiya_ was too good to be true. For years, Halona had repressed her feelings, not wanting to endanger her friendship with Kaiya, but eventually, she had confessed, and Kaiya had returned them.

She knew, factually, that this happened. But watching Kaiya beam, laugh, and dance in the rain made her wonder if it was real or if she was just dreaming. How Kaiya loved her back was still a mystery to Halona, but, for now, she was just happy to twirl her around and pull her in by the waist.

Because Kaiya was warmth; she was light. She was kisses in the morning, coming home after a long day, and the smell of freshly baked apple pie. Her voice was a song, her words mercy, and her touch like an angel’s. She was, simply put, magic- truly and completely, and life burst forth whenever she smiled.

“You’re gorgeous,” Halona told her matter-of-factly. “And I love you.”

“I love you, too. And you’re not a bad dancer. Come here.”

She took Halona’s breath away by kissing her and then staring back with those captivating hazel eyes she adored so much. In them, she found herself. She could lose everything else and be left with just Kaiya, and somehow, she’d make it- because Kaiya was what got her up in the morning, made her press on, and gave her strength.

Her hands found their way to Halona’s neck to pull her in for kiss after kiss after kiss until the raindrops slowed.

Swallowing giddiness, Kaiya murmured, “We should head home. We look like messes.”

“You don’t look like a mess,” Halona said, and she meant it. Wet, tangled hair, damp caramel skin, sopping dress, and all. It all just added up to make an imperfectly perfect picture of Kaiya.

“Then we better go get our shoes. They’re probably muddy and disgusting.”

Halona shrugged. “I don’t care. I’d rather kiss you again.”

*************

England waited impatiently for the elderly woman in front of him. She was trying to count out the coins she owed to the Jenkinses for the baked goods she was purchasing and wasn’t having much success.

“Here, let me help you,” England offered, tired of waiting on her.

“Oh, why thank you, young man!” She said, surprised.

“Anytime.” He gave a false smile and flipped through the coins in her hand, counting out nine pence, five shillings, two silver pennies, a halfpenny, and four farthings to hand over to the waiting Emma Jenkins.

The old lady gasped. “My, you did that fast! You must be very smart!”

That, and the fact that he had been using the same currency for five centuries. “Thank you. Have a safe walk home.”

With a shriveled hand, she patted his shoulder before hobbling out of the bakery, meaning that it was finally England’s turn. “Hello, Miss Jenkins.”

She smiled. “Arthur! It’s been a while. How are you?”

“Well. You?”

Emma blushed. “I’m great. Um, what can I get you?”

Emma Jenkins and her long-standing crush on England weren’t unknown to him. It was just a harmless infatuation that America said was likely thanks to his accent. It didn’t concern him. It was almost endearing at times.

“Ah, let’s see. Alfred wanted half a dozen blueberry muffins, and Matthew requested the same number of sugar cookies.”

“Anything for you?”

“I’m alright, thank you. How is your family?”

“Good. Jordan is getting over his head cold. Mama is as stressed as always, and Papa is very busy. He’s getting an order from the granary right now, so he left me with the shop and Laura.”

Arthur looked over at the bubbly baby, who was crawling very slowly behind the counter with a wooden spoon clutched tightly in her first. “She’s adorable.”

“I know, right?”

“And what about you, specifically? It seems like I ask you about the rest of your family each time I see you, but rarely about yourself. How are you?”

Her cheeks got redder. “Oh. I’m fine. I’m good, actually. There are lots of things to be done, of course, but that’s nothing new. So, uh, when are you returning to England?”

“Not sure. I guess it all depends on how politics are here in the colonies. Wouldn’t want Virginia catching on fire in my absence.”

She laughed nervously. “That would be bad. Although I guess you probably couldn’t leave even if you wanted to with the harbor being closed and all.”

“I could take a carriage ride to another town and leave from there. Marblehead, or something.”

“Oh. Right. Well, um, I hope you don’t leave too soon. We like having you around, and it’s nice to see you sometimes.”

He smiled warmly. “That’s sweet, Emma.”

Trying to keep the conversation alive, she said, “Lovely weather we’re having.”

“It was just raining.”

“Well, yes. I like the rain.”

England chuckled. “I do, too. It reminds me of London.”

“Because you live in, uh, London?”

“When I’m not here, yes.”

“I see. I was wondering the other day how you knew Alfred.”

“We’re friends. I knew Matthew’s father, and so I met him. From there, I met Alfred.”

Emma hesitated. “I beg your pardon, but did you say _Matthew’s father?”_

“And Alfred’s father!” England quickly corrected. “I don’t know why I phrased it like that. They’re brothers. I just… Alfred’s my friend.”

“Ah.” She replied awkwardly. “Well, that’s interesting. Who’s their father?”

“His name is Francis.”

Once again, her brow furrowed. “Francis?”

“Yes.”

“But that… A different one, then?”

England found himself feeling muddled as well. “What do you mean by ‘a different one?’ A different one than who?”

“Matthew and Alfred’s other friend, Francis. Tall? Blond? French? He gets pastries every morning when he’s here.”

That sounded like France. But that couldn’t be possible because France and Canada weren’t allowed to see each other. He had forbidden that.

Not for America, though. Ships could come and go between America and France as well as America and Canada. If America, Canada, and France had collaborated on a schedule, they very well could have all been in Boston at the same time.

England’s blood was boiling just thinking about it. America couldn’t have done that, could he? He must have known how upset England would be.

Which is why he kept it a secret. Everything began to fall into place. He knew that period when France wasn’t mailing him was suspicious! He must have been in the colonies! Then, his return address would have been in Boston, like Canada’s, and England would have known that they were visiting each other. It all made perfect sense.

And with the rebelliousness America had been finding in himself lately, it wasn’t out of the question. Not to mention that he’d do just about anything for his brother, including betraying his lover. Honestly, England shouldn’t have been so surprised.

“I better be heading back home, or Alfred will skin me for making him wait on his muffins,” England said with fake laughter.

“Yes. I mean, okay. Tell him I say hello. Matthew, too.”

“I will. Have a good day.”

“And to you!”

*************

America’s hands shook uncontrollably, and he clenched them together to stop them. Canada was visiting the girls at America’s request. After receiving a shocking piece of information, America had asked him to leave. He had to talk to England alone.

The lock clicked, and England stepped in with the goods from the Jenkinses’ bakery. His footsteps were hurried, and he barely glanced in America’s direction when he headed into the kitchen and called, “I’m home. Emma Jenkins says hello. Where’s Canada?”

“Out,” America replied, voice fragile and meek.

Upon hearing his distress, England came back out of the kitchen to look at America, who was seated in the sitting room. His eyes flickered to his colony’s trembling hands. “Are you alright?”

Slowly, he shook his head.

England frowned and went to sit on the couch next to him, not bothering to take off his shoes. “What is it?”

“How long were you going to wait to tell me?” He whispered.

“Tell you what?” Then he spotted the document on the table dictating the parameters of the renewed and revised Quartering Act. Dread rushed through him. All his concerns about France were abandoned as he realized that his transgression vastly outweighed America’s- now wasn’t the appropriate time to discuss their rendezvous. “Oh.”

“How long?”

“Not long. I knew you’d be upset, so I wanted you to stay in the dark as long as possible. I know I should have told you, but I thought it’d be better for us if-”

“You signed off on it.”

England swallowed dryly. “I did. They asked me to. And I figured, well, this was already in place beforehand, and it’s economically beneficial, so I didn’t think it’d be a problem if I-”

“You let them.”

“It wasn’t _let_ so much as it was-”

America held up his hand in a request for silence, and England immediately stopped. “I’ve tried so, so hard to be okay with the Coercive Acts, England. I really have.”

“I know, and I appreciate it so much, darling,” He said, scooting closer to America and grabbing his hands in reassurance. “You’re doing a wonderful job, you-”

“-And I forced myself to be okay with the others. But I’m not okay with this one. You signed off on it. Personally.”

England’s chest tightened, and his grip on America’s hands mirrored it. “Please don’t be angry.”

“I’m not.”

He sighed in relief, the tension in his shoulders falling. “Oh, thank god, I was scared that you were going to say-”

“I want to be.”

A beat.

“What?”

“I want to be angry at you. It’s not as hard to be angry at people, you know? Yelling and cursing and telling them all the reasons they’re wrong makes you feel better. And it’s easier than dealing with whatever pain the anger stemmed from. So I’d like to be mad at you, but I’m not. I’m just really, really hurt.”

England felt the rush of guilt immediately. “I’m so sorry, darling. It wasn’t right. I shouldn’t have signed it.”

“Then you’ll change it?”

“I… I don’t think I can anymore,” England admitted, turning America’s face toward him and brushing his fingers over his cheek. This was bad- very, very bad, and he knew touch made America feel better. Right now, it was about damage control, and he needed to do anything to slow the spiral of emotion he knew was coming. “I’ll make it up to you. I’ll make you as much bacon as you want, and you can have the first pick of the best pieces, and I’ll get up early to feed Pilgrim and do the chores and talk Parliament into-”

Numbly- “Please stop.”

He clamped his mouth shut, terrified of America’s response, but not daring to interrupt.

“Do you not care?” America whispered.

“I do! Your citizens are my citizens, too. I want to take care of them as best as possible, but I have to put the soldiers somewhere. There’s not enough room and supplies at the barracks, and Parliament thought this would solve that problem, so I went with it.”

“No, I meant about Ellis. Do you not care about what happened to me with Ellis?”

England’s eyes went wide, and he moved off the sofa to crouch in front of America so that he could cradle his face and look into it. “Of course I do, love. That was horrible; I can never imagine what happened to you. I mean, if I had known you needed another pardon, I would have sent one, but I didn’t. Still, I feel terribly guilty.”

“Then why did you sign it?” America’s voice was steady, and there was this dryness to his aura that unsettled England. His eyes spoke of exhaustion and betrayal, and it made England’s stomach churn.

“I shouldn’t have. I realize that now.”

“You should have known then. It shouldn’t have been a question. That paper should have hit your desk, and you should have said no because of when I couldn’t.”

England’s eyes started to tear up. One of his hands slid off America’s face and fell to hold his left one. “You’re right. I messed up. I’m so sorry, America, I’m so sorry. Please forgive me.”

“I don’t know if I can.”

He did a double-take. “W- What?”

At last, that tired calm shattered, and America finally showed emotion in the form of watery eyes. “I’ve forgiven you so many times. I’ve given you chance after chance. And I want to listen and just pretend that these things never happened. But they did.”

“That’s okay. You don’t have to forgive me until you’re ready,” England assured, kissing his forehead, his temple, his nose, and his lips, each in quick succession as if kissing injuries away to soothe his pain. “Take all the time you need.”

“I don’t think you understand.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean… I mean that I was powerless. It didn’t matter how much strength or political pull I had, or anything else- I was just helpless. So Ellis used it. He used _me.”_

He ran the pad of his thumb over America’s palm. “I know, love.”

“No, you don’t know,” he said, standing abruptly and pushing England off of him. “You weren’t there! You don’t get it! I was terrified, Iggy! Terrified! Every single day was hell! I had to live with him, see him, put up with him, every goddamn day! He took my life, my bed, my body, my will to live, my hope, everything!”

England stumbled to his feet. “Your will...?”

America threw his hands up in frustration. “Yes! Of course he did! I was falling apart. I was violated again and again and again. I couldn’t fight back. I had to let him drag me up to _my_ bedroom and… I cried and cried. I begged him to stop. I pleaded for him not to. But he never did. And it was humiliating and intrusive and fucked up and- God, I don’t even know how to express it.”

“America-”

“I tried to pretend it wasn’t happening sometimes. I tried to close my eyes and imagine it was you. Maybe I was in London, you know? Maybe I was in London with you and those- those _hands,_ they were yours. Not his. When he vandalized my skin, I told myself, ‘America, it’s fine. That’s not Ellis. That’s England, and you’re fine. You’re safe, and everything you feel right now is fine.’ And when he was done and threw me and my clothes out into the hall like garbage, I’d take a moment to just stay there, on the floor, and try to breathe again. I’d be scared and alone and in pain. Except for the times I wasn’t. Because once in a while, I’d get physical satisfaction out of it, too. Those were the worst times. He would laugh and say things like, ‘See? It’s not so bad,’ and ‘Admit it, you like this, Alfie,’ or ‘You’re mine- and you know it,’ because _my own body_ betrayed me. It felt like he, somehow, in this appalling, twisted way, won.”

England tried to keep his composure, but the tears just kept flowing. “Darling, please-”

“Please what? Please stop being upset? Or please stop telling you what he did to me so that you can pretend it didn’t happen and sign acts without thinking about when I was screaming and sobbing while he was _raping me?”_

“I’m sorry-”

“If that were true, you wouldn’t have agreed to let history repeat itself for my people. And if you loved me, you couldn’t have put your name down.”

England’s eyes widened in horror. “I _do_ love you!”

“Really? Because lately, it’s hard to tell. I focused on the good moments and argued that they outweighed the bad ones for a long time, but then this happened, and the scales tipped.”

Suddenly, Canada’s words came rushing back to England, and he was struck with a fear he had never felt before. “Tipped?”

America paused to wipe his nose and tears on his sleeve. “I can’t do it anymore.”

No. No, this couldn’t be happening. England had tried. He did better. Ever since he arrived and they fought, he’d done his best to make amends. It was supposed to be enough. This wasn’t supposed to happen.

“What are you saying?”

America closed his eyes to take a deep, shaky breath. “I’m saying that things between us… they’re over.”

The whole world came crashing down at that moment, and England found that he couldn’t breathe. This wasn’t happening. He wasn’t losing America. That was impossible because he simply _couldn’t_ lose America. He couldn’t be without him.

“No, please, I’m so sorry, America, I’ll do anything. Do you want Boston Harbor reopened? I’ll get it opened. And I’ll revoke the Quartering Act. I don’t know how yet, but I’ll figure it out, talk to King George or something. And you can have some space if you want it or I’ll move to one of the guest rooms. I don’t care what you do, just please don’t do this.”

“You’ve always seen me as less than you, even if you’ve done your best to hide it- not just from me, but from yourself. Let’s be honest. You own me. Things between us were never equal. We were never even. And so you took advantage of me. Exploited me, walked all over me, then apologized, and I kept forgiving you because I love you. But I have to stop forgiving you. I deserve better treatment than this.”

Nausea swam through England from the stress as his heart imploded. “But I love you!”

“No. You don’t.”

“I do!”

“You want to. I know you want to. And I think you were almost there. But you fell just short of love, England, because if you loved me, you never could have signed that paper.”

“You can’t do this!” He cried. “You can’t just leave me!”

“I have to.”

He stumbled forward and grabbed America’s hand, clutching it desperately. “America, don’t! We’ll work through it! We’ll fix it! We can- I know we can! You’re the love of my life, darling, please!”

America shook his head and fished out some coins from his pocket. “Take these, get a room at the inn or something. But you can’t stay here anymore.”

The coins felt like heavy, cold weights in England’s hand. They mocked him, laughing as America told him to leave. “Isn’t there anything I can do? Anything I can say?”

“No. Iggy, it’s not that I don’t love you,” America murmured. “I do. But that isn’t enough anymore. Maybe… maybe one day, a long time from now, we’ll be on even ground. Maybe then we can try again. But in the foreseeable future, this isn’t sustainable.”

He swallowed the lump in his throat and turned, walking to the door stiffly. Feeling his emotions wasn’t an option right now. If he said any of the heartbroken phrases screaming in his head, he’d break down and never get back up.

So he took the key out of his pocket and slipped it under the rug, just like America did, and turned the knob.

“Iggy?”

He paused and stared down at his hand. “Yes?”

“I’m sorry.”

His heart sank. For a moment, he thought America might have changed his mind. “I am, too.”

England walked outside into the evening Boston air, not allowing himself to turn back and see America’s tear-stained face.

The sound of the door falling shut reminded him of a lid closing on a coffin.


	16. The First Continental Congress

“The distinctions between Virginians, Pennsylvanians, New Yorkers, and New Englanders are no more. I am not a Virginian but an American!” -Patrick Henry, the First Continental Congress, 1774

Canada came home to find his brother curled up on the couch, sobbing. He’d just been on a walk after America asked him to go. When he requested his departure, Canada had assumed that they’d be having sex and was more than happy to leave. They could get disruptive at night, and Canada would have to put his pillow over his head so that he didn’t have to hear it, so he figured if they got it all out of their systems now, he could get some sleep that night.

The crying was very unexpected.

“America?” He asked worriedly. Canada kicked off his shoes and rushed over, sitting down on the couch beside him and hugging him tightly. “Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

He tried to stutter out a response, but it was impossible to understand him with all the tears, so Canada settled for holding him until he could catch his breath. America cried and cried for so long that Canada briefly considered getting him a glass of water, but it wasn’t easy to focus on that when America was gripping him so hard he thought his bones might break. He decided not to mention it.

Finally, when shaky gasps and hiccups were all that were left, Canada asked again. “What happened?”

America sniffled. “I made him leave.”

“Who?”

“England. He’s not my- We’re not-” He burst into tears again, and Canada sighed, rubbing his back soothingly and hushing him.

He’d tried to help England. Truly, he had. But when he looked at the paper on the small table, he realized what must have happened. So much for mending damaged relationships.

It wasn’t like Canada didn’t expect this. Ever since the Battle of Golden Hill four years ago, he’d known that their relationship was likely doomed. He’d done his part in trying to fix it, but it appeared to be beyond repair.

The fact that England had the grit to sign off on the Quartering Act renewal was almost impressive. Canada couldn’t imagine ever being so cold. He always had too many feelings when it came to politics. France had told him so at least a hundred times in the most paternal way possible. It was, supposedly, a weakness of his. If he couldn’t shut out his emotions when dealing with difficult issues, he’d end up making poor decisions.

Come to think of it, though, maybe it was a good thing he didn’t have the same detached indifference as England.

*************

The universe was a massive motherfucker.

That was what America concluded when, in his time of need, Parliament ordered Canada to go back home. The parliamentarian who had written to them about it had insisted that he needed to be present in his land to understand what was happening despite that nothing, in fact, was happening in the Province of Quebec. Whereas in Boston, Canada’s brother was an emotional wreck.

Not to mention that there had been raids on provincial gunpowder conducted by English soldiers that had everyone on edge. Thousands of people had been flocking to Boston, armed to the teeth and ready to fight back. Multiple notable loyalists had been ambushed and forced out of the city while more boycotts bloomed and in response to it all. A new group of patriots had formed and were training to be ready to fight within sixty seconds, rightly named ‘Minutemen.’

As much as America wanted to stay home, cry, and eat cookies, he had work to do. Notably, a meeting to attend. It was called the Continental Congress, and he wasn’t excited to walk through the doors of Carpenters Hall in Philadelphia for it when he could still feel the sharp cut England’s absence left behind.

As soon as he entered, he felt a clap on the back, and a man whose name he knew he should remember grinned at him. “Jones! Good to see you again. How are you?”

He smiled politely. “Well. You?”

“Great, just great. Hey, you ready for the meeting?”

“I suppose.”

“Are you speaking?”

“Not today. Are you?”

He laughed. “Nah. As if Roger Sherman would let me get a word in edgewise. Connecticut probably doesn’t even know I’m one of its representatives here.”

“Between you and me,” America said, lowering his voice, “Sherman is an asshole. If you have to, gag him and give your speech.”

The man laughed. “You’re honest, Jones. That’s what I like about you.”

“Will!” Called a smiling man that hurried over.

That’s what his name was- William Hull. And the approaching man was-

“Silas!” Hull exclaimed, pulling him into a quick hug with some firm slaps on the back. “It’s been too long. How are you?”

“Great! I can’t believe I was chosen for the Continental Congress!” Silas Deane noticed America and grinned, shaking his hand. “Alfred! God, you haven’t aged a day since I last saw you. How are you? How’s Matthew?”

America shook his hand back, feeling a bit better. Silas Deane was, like William Hull, a delegate from Connecticut. He had a bright personality and was steadfast in his morals, something America admired. Silas was, by far, his favorite Connecticuter.

“Thank you. I’ve been well. Matthew, too. How’s your son?”

“He’s becoming such a nice young man. I’m proud every day. I’m so glad you’re here. I was hoping you’d be representing Massachusetts Bay.”

“You, too.”

Silas frowned a bit and stepped closer to murmur, “You alright? You seem off.”

“I’m fine. Just exhausted.”

“I’d bet. Things in Boston are always moving so fast. Take care of yourself, okay? Don’t work too hard.”

America couldn’t help the swell of affection he felt. Silas was a great friend, and it had been far too long since he had seen him in person. “Alright.”

“Good. Come on, Will, we’ve got to get to our seats, or Roger will kill us,” Silas said, giving America one last smile and going to the seats for their colony.

That was America’s cue to find the Massachusetts section. He wandered through the crowd, exchanging a few quick greetings before arriving with his fellow delegates: John and Samuel Adams, Thomas Cushing, and Robert Treat Paine.

John Adams could be hard to get along with, but America was his friend. It wasn’t easy to hold a conversation with him, either. Still, he was pleasant enough most of the time, and his wife, Abigail Adams, was a personal friend of America’s (Abigail was more likable than her husband). He’d been to dinners with the Adamses a few times, and he was very fond of their family.

Samuel Adams, John’s cousin, was much more assertive. He had strong opinions that he wasn’t afraid to voice. Speeches and debates were an everyday occurrence for him, and he was interesting to listen to so long as you stayed on his good side.

Thomas Cushing was the opposite: peaceful, passive, and calm. He was a soothing presence that kept Samuel in check, and he knew more about American economics than America. He’d refused to attend the Committees of Correspondence, but America couldn’t blame him. They were disorganized events, anyway, full of Samuel Adams yelling and men more interested in progressing their own fame than the good of their colony.

Last was Robert Treat Paine. He didn’t get along with John Adams ever since they became rival lawyers. It had only gotten worse when he was prosecuting the soldiers responsible for the shooting in Boston, and John, who was defending them, won. But he was dedicated, fair, and steady, which was needed to offset Samuel Adams sometimes.

America sat down next to John Adams and surveyed the room, scanning for familiar faces. He knew most of the men there, most notably John Jay, Patrick Henry, and Lieutenant Colonel George Washington. The first two were political figureheads, but America had served with Washington during the war not long ago. They’d only met briefly, but America had been awestruck. He was fortunate that he didn’t know him well then, or else he’d have a lot of questions about the similarities in his appearance.

He wasn’t sure if he was going to end up revealing his identity to the Continental Congress or not. It depended on how things went, he supposed. Normally, he’d ask England what he thought, but that wasn’t an option at the moment. England was still staying at an inn, and they hadn’t seen each other since America made him leave.

“Mr. Jones!” John Adams said, grabbing America’s attention.

“Mr. Adams. You’re here for Massachusetts?”

“No, I’m here for South Carolina,” Adams joked. “Of course I’m here for Massachusetts. Not excited about it, though. I miss Boston.”

Sam laughed and took the seat on the other side of his cousin. “Philadelphia’s not so bad. I’m happy to be here. We’ll give the king a screwing he’ll never forget.”

“That’s crude,” Cushing chided. “He’s still our king.”

“Not for much longer.” Robert declared, sitting down beside Cushing, as far from John as he could get.

“Is that treason I hear?” John sneered.

America looked at him weirdly. “John, you want to declare independence, too.”

In the center of the room, a man clapped his hands to get everyone’s attention. People stopped talking and settled into their seats, waiting for him to speak quietly.

“Good morning, gentleman. For those of you that don’t know me, my name is Peyton Randolph, I am from Virginia, and I am here to preside over the meeting. We are gathered here in response to the recently implemented Coercive Acts-”

“Intolerable Acts!” Shouted someone from the North Carolina section. Murmurs of approval rippled through the crowd.

Peyton cleared his throat. “Yes, the Intolerable Acts. Thank you, North Carolina. Now we must determine a course of action to take. Today, we have three speakers on the schedule. Mr. Roger Sherman of Connecticut, Mr. Samuel Adams of Massachusetts Bay, and Mr. Nathanial Folsom of New Hampshire, time permitting. Mr. Sherman, you have the floor.”

Peyton sat down with his colleagues as Roger Sherman came to stand before the congress.

This was just great. America would have to listen to Roger Sherman talk for at least two hours in that annoying voice of his about things everyone already knew.

“Greetings, fellow delegates,” Sherman began, and America’s attention was immediately lost.

He glanced over at John’s papers. There was a half-finished doodle of a house on it that he was trying to complete.

America whispered, “You should add some shutters.”

John laughed quietly and put rectangular shutters beside the house’s windows. Then, he made a sidewalk that turned and a small shed. It wasn’t the best drawing America had ever seen, but it was all the entertainment he’d get while Sherman was the speaker.

After two and a half hours, the Continental Congress took a recess, and America stood, stretching his cramping limbs. There was absolutely no leg room in the uncomfortable seats.

“Who was in charge of the food?” Sam asked.

John raised his hand. “I was. My wife, Abigail, volunteered to make it, so I think we’re in for a real treat.”

America practically drooled. “Her cooking is delicious.”

They’d decided a while ago to make a schedule and take turns bringing lunch for the rest of the delegates in their section. It was easier and mostly an excuse for America not to have to pack his own things.

John distributed sacks of salted cheeses, bread, dried meat, and apples. When he handed one to Robert, he glared at him. “I told her not to make you anything. But she did anyway.”

“Whatever,” Robert took the apple out and bit into it.

Working in the government seemed like a serious and prestigious job to outsiders, but America had come to find that it was much more like playing with children. Not that he could claim not to be part of it. He had his fair share of delegates he disliked. But Robert and John were like petulant kids.

“Mmm, this is delicious!” Sam complimented. “Tell Abigail thank you for me.”

“I will.”

Cushing turned to Sam. “So, Samuel, what are you going to say?”

“I’m just going to discuss my standpoint on the Intolerable Acts.”

“So you’ll be ranting for eight years?” America teased.

“If it’ll get us independence, I’d rant for nine.”

America nodded. “So you really think separating from the motherland is the best option?”

“It’s the only option. Don’t tell me you’re turning loyalist, Jones!”

“No, I’m a patriot. I guess I just still have my reservations. War is bloody. I don’t want to kill thousands of Americans in a war we have slim chances of winning. Because let’s be honest, the odds of success against the British Empire aren’t good. And if we were defeated, our leaders would be executed for high treason. That includes you. I don’t know if you’ve forgotten how that punishment goes, but I’d rather not see it happen to anyone.”

The penalty if you committed high treason? To be dragged to the gallows, hung near to death, emasculated, disemboweled slowly (while being forced to watch your organs burn), beheaded, and ripped into four pieces. Then, your remains would be displayed in popular locations such as on spikes on London Bridge. Not before being forced to see the same thing happen to your friends, though. The English were nothing if not imaginative.

“I haven’t forgotten. But it’s worth it. I believe in America, and I believe in freedom. I’d take the punishment a thousand times over if it meant that we could secure the rights of our descendants.”

America felt a stir of nationalism inside, and he smiled. “Your confidence is inspiring.”

“I know.”

Randolph clapped and gathered everyone’s attention again, so America had to sit back down in his cramped seat. Tomorrow, he’d be sure to bring some stationery and draft some letters while he ignored the speeches.

*************

Over the next few weeks, speech after speech was given and debates raged inside Carpenter’s Hall. Patrick Henry gave a particularly uplifting address about unification, Samuel Adams did a fantastic job when he spoke, and there was nearly a fight between the two delegates for Rhode Island, so things were more engaging.

The conservatives wanted to pressure the crown into revoking the Coercive Acts, while others wanted to make a firm statement of their rights to Parliament.

Roger Sherman insisted that Parliament didn’t have any power over them anyway, which John Jay said was bullshit until Patrick Henry insisted they needed to become their own country, an idea not shared by the majority of the congress.

Then, Joseph Galloway, a Pennsylvanian loyalist, came up with a plan to create an American Parliament that would govern with the English Parliament’s consent. It seemed like a reasonable compromise to America, but John Adams, who hated Galloway, debated hotly and ended up swaying the congregation into vetoing it, though narrowly.

“I don’t get it,” America remarked to John after the votes were counted. “Why did you hate Galloway’s plan so much?”

“Because Galloway is a bastard with a lump of soggy bread for a brain, and his plan would never work. Didn’t you listen to my speech?”

“I did, but you didn’t actually point out what was wrong with it. You just inspired rebellion. Why wouldn’t it work?”

“Parliament would never agree, Alfred.”

He frowned. “But we didn’t even try. You couldn’t know that for sure. And it seemed like a good idea to me.”

“Are you taking Galloway’s side?”

America sighed, deciding that the debate wasn’t worth it. “No. Just trying to understand. Nevermind. How’s Abigail?”

The rest of the meetings didn’t go much better than that. Delegates from twelve of the thirteen colonies (Georgia hadn’t attended) shouted at each other until they ended up just making an official boycott on English goods and a petition to send to the king. It wasn’t a very elaborate or effective solution, and America was annoyed that it took over a month to come to such a feeble decision.

Throughout the time he spent in Philadelphia, another ship had been burned with all the tea on board, the redcoats continued to take gunpowder belonging to colonists, and anger was spreading.

America’s box at the post office was always stuffed full. Half of it was just other politicians venting their frustrations, while the other half detailed the sources of that frustration.

The exception was when he got letters from Canada or France. Every time he read what they sent him, he felt a bit better about living alone again.

England had not written him any non-business letters, but America didn’t care. Most of the time, he was able to keep his mind off of England, especially when he saw Kaiya and Halona. The girls weren’t around a lot, so he had to treasure the time he had with them. Sometimes he wanted to ask them to spend more time with him, but he knew that they needed to see their families and that the bookshop was a lot of work.

Usually, he didn’t have a lot of human friends. The exceptions were during wartime when he was with his people too much not to make friends. But since he didn’t have England, he was getting closer to many of his colleagues.

He’d struck up more correspondence with Silas Deane, which was good for him. Silas was a healthy dose of calm in the storm of his life, always reminding him to take care of himself and being emotional support.

Not only that, but he was spending time with the delegates that he reconnected with at the Continental Congress. Since they lived nearby, he was regularly getting drinks with them and discussing steps they should take in response to the government’s actions.

The more he listened to them, though, the more he was finding himself swayed by their ideas. Quickly, he was beginning to realize that he needed to take bolder steps with Parliament. He even found himself wondering what it would be like to be his own country and wishing he was independent.

Such ideas were dangerous. If England knew he was thinking about separating from his empire, he’d kill him. Metaphorically, because he would want the thirteen colonies to stay intact so that he could benefit from them. But if he honestly fought England and lost, the consequences would be severe. Images of being locked away in a cell for a few centuries flashed across his mind. It wasn’t appealing.

But what if he won? What if he became a new person? British America, the United Colonies of America, and the Thirteen British Colonies of America were his names, but they didn’t feel like they fit anymore. So, what if he won and became what some patriots suggested- The United States of America? That had a nice ring to it.

Canada was a holdup, though. If he separated from the British Empire, what would happen to Canada? Would he be banned from seeing his brother like France? Would England take out his frustration on him? Would laws become more restrictive to prevent Canada from doing the same thing? How would he be affected?

Some had suggested that the colonies become independent and take over the north. William Hull was one of those people. Obviously, America didn’t want to fight his brother. The last war was bad enough. Luckily for him, most thought that was a bad idea and that getting them on their side was better.

He sent a letter to Canada that used a code they’d devised in their youth for fun to tell him what was going on. In the same encryption, Canada replied that his people didn’t want to rebel, which sent that idea out the window. They’d have to find some other way of making sure Canada was safe.

Halona snapped in America’s face. “America!”

He blinked, coming out of a daze. “Huh?”

“Ha! Your face. Kaiya asked you if you wanted hot cocoa.”

“Oh. Yeah, that’d be great.”

Kaiya went into their kitchen and started whipping up the beverage, humming a song her aunt had taught her when she was young under her breath.

Their kitchen was quaint and compact, just like the rest of their house. There was no wall dividing the sitting room and the kitchen, so they could still talk while cooking. It was small but endearing, and America liked being there.

“So, how are things?” Halona asked, flopping down on the couch unceremoniously.

“Fine, I guess,” He answered while scratching behind River’s ears. “Busy most of the time, but recently things have quieted down. It’s weird. It’s like this ominous calm before something bad happens.”

Kaiya, in the kitchen, creased her brow. “What kind of ‘something bad’?”

“I can’t say for sure, but I think war is approaching.”

She sighed sadly and took the cups into the sitting room to distribute. “That’s terrible. I’m sorry.” 

“It’s alright.”

“Do you want to go to war?” Halona asked, looking at him intently.

“No. But I want my independence, and if I can’t have it peacefully, I may take it by force.”

Kaiya was standing behind the couch and America, so she ran her fingers through his hair comfortingly. “Are you sure? You’d have to fight England.”

“I know,” He said. “But I can’t let my people be mistreated.”

Halona nodded. “I’m on your side. We deserve freedom. And while the three of us are no longer suffering directly, others are. There are still people that have soldiers in their houses. We’re all being bled dry with these taxes. It’s not right.”

Kaiya sat down on the couch beside America. “I’m not saying you’re wrong, but I can’t imagine how you would ever win. You’re like a brother to me, and I don’t want you getting hurt, or worse.”

“England wouldn’t kill me,” America said. “He doesn’t have it in him. At least, not right now. Maybe he’d build up the stamina during the war. But even if he had it, if I’m dead, the colonies will gradually disintegrate, and that’s not good for business.”

“Yes, but to leave you alive would look weak in his enemies’ eyes. So that could be bad for him military-wise. And then there are the other colonies he owns. They may try to fight back, too, when they see that you made it through alive. To have multiple colonies rebelling would be even worse for his economy.”

Halona set her hot chocolate down on the table. “Kaiya has a point there. If I were England, I’d kill you.”

“Gee, thanks. Look, I know the chances of him killing one of his other colonies if they started a revolution are significant, but I’m also different. I’m his favorite, not to mention that I was his lover.”

Kaiya made intense eye contact with him. “America, that may make things even worse. He’ll feel betrayed. Undoubtedly, he’d be furious. Hurt, but still furious. He may kill you _because_ of that. The thing is… uh, name another British colony that England doesn’t know well.”

“The Cayman Islands.”

“Thank you. If the Cayman Islands committed treason, he’d be mad, but it would be a detached kind of mad. He’d be able to sit back and examine the situation rationally before making any serious decisions. But he loves you, which means that it’d be personal. People lash out when things are personal. What if he kills you in a crime of passion?”

That hadn’t occurred to him. He’d always assumed England wouldn’t be able to kill him. But Kaiya was right.

“I never thought of that.”

Halona interjected. “But, America, you’re not happy living under British rule. You deserve happiness, and if that comes at England’s expense, so be it. He was the one that made you unhappy in the first place. He’s not just some innocent bystander that you’d be unjustly hurting in the process. Isn’t it better to risk your life for freedom than it is to live and die safely in a cage?”

Slowly, he nodded. “I don’t like being under his thumb.”

“Then break away. To be afraid is understandable, but you can’t spend the rest of your immortal life in England’s control.”

“But what about his people?” Kaiya reminded her. “We have no idea how many casualties will occur. We could lose thousands.”

“Is it so bad to die for a cause you believe in?”

Kaiya sighed. “No. Fine, say the deaths aren’t an issue. What if you lose? You know what happens to people that commit high treason.”

“Even if England could kill me in the heat of the moment, he could never do that to me. First, that would have to be premeditated. If I were in the dungeon, guilt would eat him alive before they took me away, and he’d change his mind. And if by some impossible chance he didn’t have me released in that time, there’s no way he could watch that happen to me. It doesn’t matter how upset he is. He always would come home shaken after that happened to a prisoner, and I’d have to cuddle with him for a long time before he could even think right. If he could hardly stomach it when it happened to his most hated enemies, he couldn’t take it when it was me.”

“What if he’s not there at the execution? It’s a lot easier to order someone to be executed in a horrific way when you’re not there because you don’t have to see the results of your actions.”

“He’s always there. He says that to keep such a brutal punishment going, he had to see it. Otherwise, if he gives the order and can’t take seeing it, that makes it too extreme. Or something like that. It’s part of his whole gentleman-moral-code.”

Halona shrugged. “First time for everything. Besides, treason is only treason if you fail.”

“Look, ‘Mer,” Kaiya said, “I’m not going to tell you that one option or the other is right or wrong. But I want you to remember that we love you. Not only us but Canada. Can you imagine what your death would do to him? We’d all be devastated if you died. I just… I don’t want to lose you.”

America smiled sadly and pulled her into a hug. “I love you, too. I promise that no matter what happens, I’ll keep you in mind.”

Kaiya turned her head to look at Halona. “Come on, ‘Lona.”

She rolled her eyes but joined the hug, mumbling, “Okay, okay.”


	17. Revere's Ride

"The regulars are coming out!" -Paul Revere

There was a knock on the door that startled America. He'd been sitting at the kitchen table, reading, and wasn't expecting any visitors.

The person knocked again, harder this time.

He left his book and got up, unlatching the door. On his stoop was a young boy he didn't recognize.

America blinked in surprise. "Hello."

"Are you Mr. Alfred F. Jones, sir?"

"Um, yes. Who-"

"Two lanterns!"

America's eyes widened. A few days ago, he'd met with colleague Dr. Joseph Warren, a fellow patriot. The rumors of war were as intense as ever, and he feared a sneak attack, so they'd devised a plan. In the Old North Church's steeple, a friend, Robert Newman, would hang lanterns to alert him of English troop movements- one if by land, two if by sea. If the lanterns were hung, it was America and three other men's responsibilities to warn their friends in Lexington, who would be unaware of approaching regulars.

He grabbed his coat off the hook and threw it on. It was only about nine, but the sun had set four hours ago, and it was dark on Boston's streets. He ran through them after the boy, who peeled off in a different direction while America headed to the Old North Church to get information. This was big- he could feel it.

He knocked eight times in a specific rhythm and was let in by Dr. Joseph Warren. Inside the church were six more men. It seemed that he was the last to arrive.

"What's happening?"

"The regulars are moving by sea. They mean to arrest Samuel Adams and John Hancock in Lexington," The doctor said.

"Not only that, but they want to destroy our weapons and gunpowder in both Lexington and Concord," said a man with dark hair. "My name is Paul Revere, by the way."

America shook his hand. "Alfred F. Jones."

"You'll be riding with him," Warren told him, gesturing to a man much younger than Revere, stout, with wiry hair.

He shook America's hand. "William Dawes. Nice to meet you."

"You too. Doctor, how many men are marching on Lexington?"

"About seven hundred."

"There are lobsterbacks on the prowl everywhere," said Dawes. "And they're putting the city on lockdown to prevent people like us from delivering messages."

Revere groaned. "Then how are we going to get to the mainland? The Boston Neck's gates will be closed and guarded."

Warren waved the question off. "We're sending more than one rider. God willing, someone will reach their destination."

"We need to go as soon as possible," said another man. "If the soldiers are closing the gates tonight, there's a chance we can get there before they shut down the city."

"You're right, Israel," Warren said. He turned to Revere. "You'll go by water in an hour. Row to Charleston and then get a horse to go to Lexington."

"But the troops are moving by water!"

"It's our best hope if we can't get through the gates." Warren turned to America. "Jones, you and Dawes will take the Boston Neck and go through Roxbury. Israel, you wait here. I'll send you in the morning to space everyone's departure times out. You'll get the militia together."

"Yes, sir."

"Alright, then. Jones, Dawes, go get your horses. God bless you."

They nodded and America followed his new partner out to the stables. He dashed over to a stall with a black horse in it. Halona had said he could borrow her horse if he needed to. Eyota was as fast as lightning, and there was nothing he loved more than running.

Carefully, America approached. Eyota had never been very fond of him, but he didn't try to buck America off when he climbed on. If only he could use reins- that would make it a lot easier, but the horse wouldn't tolerate them. So America urged him forward and they headed toward the Boston Neck, an isthmus connecting Boston to the mainland town of Roxbury.

Eyota slowed when they approached the land strip, and they stopped, waiting on America's partner to catch up.

Dawes arrived a few minutes later, scowling. "The whole damn country is crawling with redcoats tonight. I was- Uh, are you going to ride that horse without a saddle or anything? You know we'll be going for hours, right?"

"I'll be fine." Alfred nudged Eyota with his heel and started forward. "Coming?"

They took off down the strip, but it wasn't long before they spotted some guards. America's heart skipped a beat, but Dawes gave him a look. It wasn't one he could fully decipher, but he knew to follow his lead.

"Whoa," One called, and they slowed down, coming to a stop at the gates. The soldiers went over with their muskets at the ready.

"There's a lockdown tonight," said a different one. "No one goes in or out."

Dawes laughed. "Even for me?"

Upon seeing him up close, the soldiers lowered their guns, and the first one said, "Dawes?"

"Yes. I hate to impose, but I've got to get to Cambridge. My sister is sick. I got the letter today, and I need to be with her."

A redheaded soldier frowned. "I'm sorry to hear that, but we aren't supposed to let anyone through. And who's he?"

America's palms were slick with sweat despite the cool air. "I'm his cousin. Gentlemen, please. I know you have your orders, but my aunt said she doesn't have a lot of time."

"The lockdown will end tomorrow."

Dawes sighed heavily. He looked at the soldier that had recognized him. "Mark, please. I need to see her. Please. I swear we won't tell anyone you let us through. But she's so sick and.... Please."

The soldier, Mark, looked at him sympathetically. "Alright. Let him through."

One of the others, a blond, protested. "But sir-"

"I said, let him through!" Mark snapped.

The men opened the gates and they urged their horses through, Dawes sharing hushed thanks with the soldier who stood up for him. They crossed into Roxbury and kept riding while Dawes shook off his faux grief.

"Nice job," America complimented.

"Thanks. Come on. We need to make up for lost time."

They pushed their horses faster through the frigid night and rain. The droplets stung his face. Each one felt like a little needle stabbing his face, and he had to bow his head to keep them out of his eyes. Wind ripped at his coat and made him cold despite the thickness of the fabric. Being wet didn't help, either.

He was already tired when they reached the Charles River, and they still had a long way to go. They sailed over a bridge, through town after town, and even took paths through the woods.

America's blood was pumping furiously the whole time. At every turn, he anticipated an officer to be there with a musket, ready to shoot. Even if he'd survive the gunshot, it didn't sound like fun, and he didn't want Eyota or Dawes to get injured.

The conditions worsened throughout the night. It was as if nature itself were on England's side. After a couple of hours, they reached Cambridge and narrowly avoided more British regulars.

America had never seen so many of them active, especially at such a late hour. That night, their job was to arrest travelers to prevent them from alerting the revolutionaries in Lexington of the army's advance, and it seemed like they were taking it very seriously.

With cobblestone streets that clacked under the horses' hooves and street lamps that exposed them, crossing through Cambridge was challenging to do inconspicuously. Every shadow could hold a soldier, any alley could be their undoing, and Lexington was still two hours away.

Eyota loved it, though, and at times, America struggled to restrain him. Twice, he had tried to bolt off, and Dawes shot them a glare.

With a little under three and a half miles behind him, he doubted they would make it in time. What would happen if they didn't reach Lexington? Would Samual be okay?

Dawes held up his hand. "Stop."

"What is it?"

"I think I heard something," Dawes said, "I don't know what it is."

"Could it be Paul?" America asked.

Dawes shook his head. "No, he didn't leave until ten, an hour after us. There is no way he could be in Cambridge."

America listened closely. He could hear the scuffling that Dawes had pointed out. It was coming from somewhere on the right, but he couldn't tell where.

He pulled Eyota back and headed left down a different street. "This way."

The team headed down some passages, past shops, houses, and a stray cat. More than one route could be taken to Lexington, so with the slight redirection, they made it through Cambridge and continued north.

America cursed his weather with each gale. He was shivering and clutching Eyota for warmth, desperate for some relief from the harsh environment. And to think he still had miles to go.

He barely registered going around the town of Menotomy. Rain burned his eyes, and it was too dark to see most things, anyway. When Dawes halted, America and Eyota nearly ran into him. They would have collided if America hadn't been letting Eyota do most of the steering.

"We're here," Dawes announced. Indeed, they came upon their goal at one o'clock in the morning.

"Where are they?"

"They're staying with a man named Reverend Clarke and some others. I have the address. Hurry up." Dawes commanded, going down another street.

America would have said something snappy, but his teeth were chattering, and all he really wanted was to go inside.

The house was wooden with a cute chimney and plenty of windows. Dawes and America tied their horses up outside, and then they went to the door. America knocked, and in a few moments, it opened a crack.

Looking through the sliver of space, Paul grinned and opened the door for them, letting them into a room with many unfamiliar faces and only a couple of recognizable ones. "Dawes, Jones. I thought you two had been captured by redcoats."

"Nah. They're not going to get us that easy," Dawes gloated.

Samuel Adams went to America and slapped him on the back. "Thank god you're alright. To take this kind of risk... You're an idiot."

America laughed. "You're welcome."

"Where are you two going to go?" Dawes asked.

"Burlington," Hancock answered. He extended a hand. "Mr. Jones."

"Mr. Hancock. Good luck."

He chuckled. "You're wishing us luck? You're the ones that need it."

"Thank you," said Dawes. "Come on, Jones. We have to get to Concord."

"Wait! You look so cold." Hancock grabbed some coats off the coat hooks beside the door. "Here. Take these and leave your wet ones here."

"Don't you need those coats?"

He shook his head. "We have spares. Take the good ones. Your mission is much more important. Godspeed, gentlemen."

America, Dawes, and Revere went to their horses and mounted. The rain had let up a bit and slowed to a drizzle, but the bite in the breeze was still just as persistent as before.

It wasn't fair that Revere got to sit inside by the fire for half an hour since he arrived first. He didn't seem that fazed by the nasty air.

The trio darted west, trekking through unsavory territory until Revere slowed down.

"Why'd you-" America started.

"Shhh!" He shushed, holding a finger to his lips.

The sound of hooves was nearby, approaching fast from somewhere behind them. They barely had time to turn around before a tan horse was barrelling toward them.

The horse's rider paused. He was a young man, perhaps in his early to mid-twenties, with reddish hair and an attractive face that lit up when he spotted Revere. "You're Paul Revere!"

Revere narrowed his eyes. "Yes. And you are?"

"My name is Samuel Prescott."

"And what are you doing out here in the middle of the night?" Dawes demanded.

He laughed nervously. "I was returning from a lady friend's house at the awkward hour of one a.m."

Dawes scrunched up his nose. "We didn't need to know that."

At the same time, Revere said, "Congratulations."

"Are you going to Concord? Are the redcoats moving?" Prescott asked, eyes wide.

The men exchanged looks until Revere shrugged. "Yes. They intend to destroy Continental weapons and gunpowder. We're riding to warn them. Care to join us?"

Prescott gasped. "That would be wonderful!"

Dawes rolled his eyes. "Stop mucking around. We have a job to do."

He clicked his tongue and urged his horse forward. The three others joined him, riding faster. Their pace had increased, they were making good time, and those they had warned dispatched over 40 riders, not to mention that at every patriot house they passed, they woke up the residents to let them know of the approaching danger, but America was still scared it wouldn't be enough.

They were halfway between Lexington and Concord when their journey, once again, experienced a delay. But this delay wasn't as friendly as the last.

Another house had been approaching. Revere rode up a bit to examine the path, which wasn't unusual for the routine they'd fallen into throughout the night, but his shout of warning wasn't, and it made America jump.

"Halt! If you go an inch further, you are a dead man!" Shouted an officer in a crimson coat, drawing his pistol. Like the patriots, he was mounted, and it was four against four if you didn't count two people that the soldiers had already captured who had bound wrists.

Dawes tried for a ruse. "Hello, boys, I've got two of 'em!"

That didn't stop anyone, and the other patriot riders split in different directions. Prescott jerked his horse to the side, leaped over a stone wall, and tore across the ground toward Concord, sending mud flying into the air. Dawes panicked, turned tail, and fled back toward Lexington as fast as he could, leaving his friends behind. Revere took another path that America followed, dashing off toward the woods.

Adrenaline pumped through him, and he could tell Eyota felt it, too, but when they ran into six more British soldiers that had been hiding in the shadows, they skidded to a stop. The redcoats drew their pistols and aimed, firing two shots that missed.

In a flash, Revere was yanked off his horse. He hit the ground hard and groaned while an officer pointed his gun at him.

America was about to run in another direction, but the soldiers that held a gun to Revere's head hissed, "Run and we'll shoot him."

Scowling, America slid off of Eyota's back and held his hands above his head. For a moment, he wasn't sure what to do. Eyota was Halona's horse- she had cared for him since he was a colt. Considering he was in fantastic condition, the soldiers would definitely take Eyota away. For that, Halona would never forgive him. So, he slapped Eyota's hide, and the horse reared, running off into the forest.

The soldiers swung down, and one glared at him, shoving him to the ground. "You're a damn fool. You'll never get that horse back."

"At least you won't have him," America spat, sitting up.

Soldier two narrowed his eyes. "Sir, may I crave your name?"

"Revere," said his companion. "And that's Allen L. James."

He looked surprised. "What, Paul Revere?"

"Yes."

At his response, a soldier slammed his gun into Revere's head, making him cry out and press a hand over the forming knot. The soldier snarled down at him. "Listen here, Paul Revere. I'm going to ask you some questions, and if you do not give me truthful answers, I'll blow your brains out. Understood?"

Dizzily, Revere nodded.

"Where were you going, rebel? Answer or I swear I'll shoot you!"

"Concord."

"Concord? Why the fuck were you going there?"

"Because your fellow regulars are moving from Boston to march on Concord and capture my friends. They think they're going to take patriot weapons, too. Stupid."

The soldiers exchanged looks. "Why would that make them stupid?"

"There's a militia waiting for them. A massive, hostile one."

One of them laughed. "You're a funny man, Revere. Bind their hands."

A soldier with a crooked nose pulled two lengths of short rope from his pocket and tied one around each new prisoner's hands. America easily could have broken the rope with his extra strength, but for the time being, he didn't see any reason to, and he had no idea what he would do after he made a run for it.

They were escorted back east toward Lexington with muskets at their backs, a clear reminder of who was in charge.

America sighed. "I guess we just have to hope one of the others makes it."

"I guess so."

"Shut up, or we'll fucking shoot you, you hear?" the officer directed.

If America felt tired before, it was nothing compared to the exhaustion he felt while they walked. A couple of times, he tripped over his own feet, and his eyelids were drooping terribly. Every limb ached, his spine creaked, and there was a terrible cramp in his side. He couldn't believe that Revere, a human, still seemed unaffected.

Hour after hour crept by, dragging America's spirits down. He wasn't quite sure what he was going to do. If he were taken to jail, he'd need someone to bail him out. Almost all of his friends were patriots that couldn't risk just waltzing into a prison to help him. Robert Jenkins wouldn't be able to afford it. Kaiya and Halona couldn't do it because they were women, and women weren't able to complete such a transaction. So who would help him?

The only other person that came to mind was England.

Oh, god. He could already see the look that would be on his former lover's face when he handed the coins over and turned that sharp green gaze on America. England wouldn't say a single word to him on the way back, either. Chilling silence was always his best weapon.

Or maybe he wouldn't even do it. Perhaps he would leave him to rot in jail as a lesson for not obeying his soldiers. That was possible, too.

He was already trying to think of a speech to give England to convince him to pay his bail when a gunshot burst in the distance.

"What the hell was that?" A soldier exclaimed.

"A signal!" Revere exclaimed. "To alarm the country. They know you're here. And you are vastly outnumbered."

It wasn't a very good bluff, but America nodded. "That's right. The militia won't hesitate to blow you to bits."

"Bits!" Cheered one of the other prisoners.

"Bullshit," said the leader. "Keep going. And shut your mouth."

As the group neared Lexington, they could hear bells ringing frantically. Their goal had been accomplished, at least for Lexington. The town knew of the British advance.

The other captive grinned. "The bell's a'ringing! The town's alarmed, and you're all dead men!"

Again, not a good bluff, but the soldiers seemed wary now.

"I think we should warn our commanders," said a soldier. "They need to know that there's such a large militia waiting."

"But then what will we do with these four?"

The third shrugged. "Set them loose. They're not important. I don't think we'd get into any trouble, and they'd just slow us down. I mean, look at the blond one. I think he's about ready to collapse."

America huffed. "Am not!" But the soldiers didn't hear him.

Revere leaned over to murmur, "You okay, Jones?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just tired. And... Something is wrong."

"What do you mean?"

"Something is going to happen. The people are restless. I can just feel it. And I'm not sure exactly what's about to occur, but whatever it is, it's going to be bad."

He sighed. "I know what you mean."

"Okay, Yanks!" Announced the leader, watching his subordinates swing off their horses and untie their hands. "You're free to go."

America and Revere looked at each other. "That's it?"

"We have better things to do. Best wishes." He turned his horse, and they galloped off with Revere's stallion in tow.

Just like that, they were gone.

"Well, that was sudden," America remarked.

Revere tugged on his arm and started toward the city. "I think Prescott made it. Come on. We can go back to the reverend's house."

America looked at the other two captives. "Are you two going to be alright?"

"Yeah," said the first. "We'll be fine. Go ahead."

"Thanks."

"Anytime."

He and Revere walked toward town just as the sun was peeking over the eastern horizon. Bells were still rapidly clanging in the churches' steeples, even when they knocked on the reverend's door.

Hancock opened it, pointing a musket at them until he saw their faces. "You're back?"

Revere nodded. "We were captured and released, but our horses are gone. We weren't sure where else to go."

"Then you can help us. Adams is upstairs, finishing packing his trunk. Come in," He said, beckoning.

The pair entered the house, and America went up the staircase, following the sound of shuffling. He pushed open a door at the end of the hall.

Samuel looked up. "Alfred? What are you doing here?"

"It's a long story. I'm here to help you pack."

He nodded and ran a hand through his hair. "Okay. There are some papers in the drawer of the nightstand. Can you get them for me?"

America nodded and pulled open the drawer to remove a stack of essays, each written in cursive and dated. He put them in the trunk and gathered knick-knacks scattered around the room.

"Did you get caught?" Samuel asked.

"Yes. We were getting close to Concord when some regulars stopped us. Dawes and Prescott got away, but they captured Revere and me. My horse ran and they took Revere's, so we walked back to Lexington."

"You're not hurt, are you? Because you look awful," He said, shuffling some letters and setting them in the trunk.

America shrugged. "Exhausted. And sore. But not injured."

"I'll bet. I can't believe you rode without a saddle. You're crazy."

"I can't argue with that."

"How are you going to get your horse back?"

He winced. "I don't know. He's not even mine. He belongs to a friend of mine. She'll be furious with me if I don't find some way to retrieve him."

Samuel hummed in thought while he folded some clothes to pack away. "Maybe you could check nearby towns to see if anyone caught him. Everyone in Massachusetts is awake thanks to you and your companions. Surely someone would have seen him."

"That's a good idea. He's a smart horse, so there's a chance he'll go back to Boston. It's only three miles away, and horses have a stellar sense of direction."

"I hope you find him."

"Me too. On the bright side, my friend would be even more upset if officers took him. He's a free spirit. He'd hate being subjected and probably lash out. Then they'd have to shoot him. So, really, the fact that he ran away is a good thing."

Halona would definitely punch him if the redcoats had taken Eyota. But Samuel had a good point- a townsperson likely saw him. A stallion without a rider drew attention. He only hoped that he could get him back.

"The militia is in the common," Samuel informed him. "They gathered there around four fifteen in the morning and have been there since."

"What do they plan to do?"

"Captain Parker, their leader, said that he was going to have them stand back so that they weren't actually stopping the army and that he wouldn't have them shoot unless they shot first." 

"That sounds like a good idea."

Samuel shrugged. "They won't like seeing us bristled like this. I think they may try to disarm the militia, and if that happens, they won't just lay down their weapons. A fight will happen."

"A fight that could begin a war."

"Exactly."

"But I thought you wanted to go to war."

"I do. But this seems like a bad place for it to begin. There are at least two hundred spectators down there. Someone innocent will get hurt. Wait- I thought you didn't want to go to war."

"My opinions changed. I'm not going to just take this lying down anymore. We deserve equality, and I'm ready to fight for it."

Samuel smiled and clapped his shoulder. "Welcome to the radicals, Al."

"Thanks. Why are you still here, anyway?"

The politician rolled his eyes. "Hancock has been ranting all night. He's determined to go fight with the militia. I keep reminding him that we're not trained and we're not soldiers, but he won't listen. He's been cleaning his gun and sword since you left. I think he's just doing it to impress Dorothy Quincy."

"Who?

"His fiancee. She's downstairs. It's a long story." He shut the trunk. "Alright, I think I'm all packed. Are you coming to Burlington with Hancock and me?"

"No, I need to stay here and see what happens with the military situation. Revere is going with you, though."

Downstairs, there was a weak knock on the door. America and his companions froze and went silent, listening to what was happening and preparing to bolt, but they heard Revere shout, "Dawes! My god!"

America raced down the stairs to see his riding partner stumbling into the house. "What happened?"

He groaned. "The fucking horse threw me."

"I'll help you," Revere said, helping him onto the couch in the sitting room. "I'm not a doctor, but I'm an amateur dentist."

"I think that's the single most terrifying phrase I've ever heard uttered," America said.

Revere didn't seem to hear him. He was examining Dawes' leg with criticism. "You'll be alright, but you'll be limping for a while."

"That's okay. You need to go. Leave me here."

"I can't do that."

"Yes, you can. I'm not a recognizable face, but you, Adams, and Hancock are. Get out of here- the soldiers are only minutes away."

Revere didn't like it, but he nodded. "Adams, are you done packing?"

He nodded.

"Good. Hancock, you're packed?"

"Yes. But I want to go fight with-"

"No. I didn't ride all night for you to get arrested. It's time to get going. Jones, are you coming with?"

"No, I'm going to the commons," He answered.

Revere sighed. "Be careful."

"I want to go, too, though!" Hancock declared. "If those damn lobsterbacks want a fight, let's give 'em a war!"

"You can't. You have other jobs to do. Let the militia handle it," America ordered. "You are no less brave for retreating to Burlington."

Adams agreed. "I hate to say it, but we can't stay here. The men can handle it on their own. Let them be the heroes for today."

Hancock crossed his arms. "Fine. Then let's get moving. May fate move in your favor, Jones."

America exchanged quick goodbyes and grabbed a spare musket before running toward the commons. He could see the army swathed in red that was just arriving.

The militia wasn't arranged in any specific formation; they all just stood on the street's sides, guns pointed at the oncoming soldiers.

Following their example, he loaded his musket and tensed, ready.

He was America, and he wasn't going down without a fight.


	18. The Shot Heard 'Round The World

“Stand your ground; don’t fire unless fired upon, but if they mean to have a war, let it begin here!” -Militia Captain John Parker

The officer leading the troops pushed his steed forward and waved his sword. “You villains, you rebels! Lay down your arms, why don’t you lay down your arms?”

People yelled back and forth, but America couldn’t see the captain nor anyone else giving instructions. A couple of people set down their guns and one retreated, but everyone else held their weapons tightly.

English soldiers swung down from their mounts and presented their arms.

“Hold your fire!” The officer told his men, and the cry was echoed by someone else in the rebel militia.

Lexington was deadly silent, each side surveying the other. America scanned the faces and was relieved when he didn’t recognize any of his opponents.

He wasn’t sure how long they stood like that- both sides aiming at the other, quiet, and tense. It was a showdown, a question of who would shoot first. That tiny detail would be critical. If the soldiers fired first, the colonists could call the war self-defense. If the revolutionaries fired first, it would give Parliament an excuse to make them all traitors.

**BANG!**

America flinched at the sound of a gunshot. Then, all at once, each side began to fire at the other.

He crouched down behind some crates and took aim at a soldier on the left flank. When the trigger was pulled, his target was missed. Smoke filled the air, making it impossible to see and reek of stale gunpowder. All he could see were the flashes of light from the muzzles of the muskets.

Were they firing bullets? Or was it just powder? As he looked around, he didn’t see anyone wounded, so perhaps they weren’t actually using any ammunition. But after a few seconds, people began to run. Maybe they _were_ loaded.

“Charge!” Someone ordered.

Squinting through the smoke, he began to make out figures- figures that wore military colors and were running forward with their bayonets in front of them, ready to impale anyone in their path.

Someone grabbed his arm and pulled him back, shouting, “Retreat! Retreat!”

America stumbled to his feet and ran after the person. Others on his side were sprinting away from the onslaught of shots and blades, splitting onto side streets or diving through doorways.

He briefly saw one of his allies be run through before the person tugging him earlier yanked harder. “Come on, you idiot!”

Never one to favor being impaled, America obeyed. He nearly tripped over the body of a dark-skinned man and spotted another crawling onto a stoop, bleeding profusely. Every instinct begged him to stop and help him, but he was a goner.

The stranger jerked him to the right, and they opened the side door to a small brick house, toppling through its doorway. He slammed the door behind him, heaving breath and wiping sweat from his brow.

A woman rushed to his side, bending down and cupping his face. “Oh my god, are you okay? Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine.” He got to his feet and looked at America, who was still on the floor. “Hey, you injured?”

“No,” America replied.

More bangs from outside, but they weren’t the same as gunshots. These shook and were more thudding than the sharp crack of a rifle. The woman asked, “What’s that noise?”

America, standing, went over to the window and pulled back the curtain. As soon as he saw what was happening, he yanked it back shut. “They’re breaking down doors.”

“Whatever for?”

“Getting the men that took shelter in houses out.”

She made a horrified noise and turned back to her husband. “Honey, you have to hide. Your friend, too!”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. Calm down. Where are the kids?”

“The barn. I told them to stay hidden there in case things got too out of hand.”

“Good.”

America shifted uncomfortably. His heart was still racing despite being out of immediate danger. “Thank you for helping me. I’d probably be bleeding in the street if it weren’t for you.”

“Sure thing.”

“Your wife is right, though. We need to find somewhere to hide.” America decided. “Where can we go?”

“There’s a closet in the bedroom. One of us may be able to fit in there. And the other… I’m not sure.”

“It’s your house. You take the closet.”

“But-”

“No excuses. I’m unmarried and have no children. You need to live more than I do. I’ll find somewhere else.”

The woman began wringing her hands. “You could get under the bed, maybe. It’s not a very good place to hide, but it’s the only other location I can think of.”

“That’d be great.”

He followed them into the bedroom, which was small and cute with a quilt tossed over the bed he rolled underneath, getting covered in dust. The man got into the closet, and they fell quiet. Out of the house, he could still hear shouts and screams as well as the occasional gunshot.

What would he do if the soldiers attacked the family that had just hidden him? How could he protect them?

Waiting was agony. With every second he spent in here, more of his people were being attacked.

Drumbeats began, and from years of experience in the British army, he knew the rhythm to be one calling the soldiers to regroup and regain order. Boots stomped, orders were given, and the noises from doors being kicked in disappeared.

It was impossible to make out the words that their commanding officer was giving, but whatever they were, they restored peace to the wounded Lexington.

More shots fired, but this time they were in an organized fashion- a victory volley. It made him sick to hear. How dare they celebrate their success while still standing before the families of the men they’d just killed? How dare they show off while those men still lay dead in the street?

A quiet voice spoke in the bedroom. “They’re leaving.”

America groaned and rolled out from under the bed as the man stepped out of the closet. “Which direction are they going?”

“West toward Concord,” She answered. “I’m going to see if I can help with the injured if you two are alright.”

Her husband kissed her on the cheek. “We’re fine. Go ahead.”

She grabbed a ribbon from the nightstand to tie back her hair and headed out, flashing a smile over her shoulder before she left.

“Thank you for sheltering me,” America said, “But I should be going, see what the captain wants and all that.”

“Sure.”

“Okay. Um, goodbye.” He stated awkwardly, shuffling out of their bedroom and down the hall that took him to the kitchen and the front door.

“Before you go,” The man said, stopping him with his hand on the handle, “I didn’t catch your name.”

“Alfred. Alfred Jones.”

He smiled. “Patrick Wells. I hope we’ll meet again, Jones.”

*************

Canada’s hands were trembling when he read the news he’d received in the mail. Shots had finally been fired between America’s militia and England’s soldiers, formally pitting them against each other. He knew that this would happen eventually, but it didn’t make it any easier to hear. All that was left to do was wait for England to demand he turn on his brother- the one thing he couldn’t do.

*************

Lexington and a second confrontation at Concord (followed by rebels chasing the army all the way back to Boston, raining bullets down on them to the point where England’s wounded soldiers who could not walk were left to die in the road so others could escape) had resulted in a total of one hundred and twenty-two dead, two hundred and thirteen injured, and fifty-eight missing.

The winning side? The colonists, who had dug in at Boston, preventing the English troops from running away and cutting off their land supply routes. Every day, more and more rebels were arriving to reinforce the siege lines surrounding Boston.

England was livid. He knew America was prickly about keeping his own stash of gunpowder, ammo, and weapons, but all of this? It was a complete overreaction. And things only got better when he found colonists celebrating all over Boston in the first few days after the battles. He couldn’t even walk to the bakery without seeing a clump of people cheering, drinking, and shouting crude things about his country.

Each of their taunts got stuck in his mind like flies in tree sap.

“We’ll get ‘em all, boys!”

“I wonder how many times you can shoot a redcoat before ‘e cries?”

“Our militia’s gonna fuck ol’ Britain in the ass!”

“Damn lobsterbacks- think they’re so much better than everyone else just ‘cause they got them fancy coats. This ought’ a knock ‘em down a peg ‘er two!”

Such obscenities usually wouldn’t bother him, but it had been an embarrassing defeat (and at the hands of his _colony,_ no less). Already, he’d received mocking mail from Scotland, meaning that word had spread fast. His enemies would surely see this as a weakness. He could only imagine what France thought.

But that wasn’t the most important part. That title belonged to America himself. After interrogating multiple soldiers, he’d concluded from their descriptions that there was a man there fitting America’s description, which meant that this wasn’t just his citizens acting up. This was personal.

He had to hand it to him, though. America’s troops were more organized than he had ever seen them, far surpassing their skill during the most recent war against France. They’d swiped Charlestown out from under him easily. Even against ten twenty-four pound guns, the rebels seemed unfazed.

Eventually, most of the patriots in the city left so that only loyalists were trapped inside. For example, he’d heard through the grapevine that Robert Jenkins joined the American resistance, meaning that Amelia and Emma Jenkins were left to run the bakery and care for Jordan and Laura- a real oversight on Robert’s part if England did say so himself.

He sighed, going into the bakery and smiling tiredly at Emma. She was standing behind the desk and the rest of her family was nowhere in sight.

“Arthur!” She brightened.

“Hello, Emma.”

“How are you doing?”

He shrugged. “Fine.”

“Really? I heard…” She lowered her voice. “I heard that Alfred betrayed the crown. That can’t be true, is it?”

England frowned and furrowed his brow. _“Betrayed_ the crown? Are you and your family not patriots?”

She grimaced. “Well, considering that siding with the rebels is treason, I should say not.”

“But your father joined their army.”

“How do you know that?”

He chuckled and put his money on the counter. “Don’t worry about it. Two muffins, four scones, and a loaf of bread, please.”

Rattled, Emma gathered up his order, refusing to make eye contact with him. It was then that England was struck with an idea. The girl had always been infatuated with him, and she was close to rebel sources. Perhaps he could work that to his advantage.

“Emma,” He said lightly, feigning casualty, “I was wondering if you’d be interested in joining me for tea sometime this week.”

Her gaze jerked up, and she began to stumble over her words. “Oh, um, I don’t know. My mother, she wouldn't like that and I, uh, need to help her with the bakery. Sorry.”

“I can’t say I’m not disappointed. But, Emma,” He leaned in so he could speak quieter with her still hearing him. “You’re a smart girl. You must know which side will win this war. Only a fool would truly believe that the Yanks would succeed, and you’re no fool. So, I suppose it’s a matter of what side you want to be on when this is all over.”

Emma gulped, eyes darting to the door to be sure her mother wasn’t coming in. “I- I’m not sure I know what you mean.”

“At the risk of coming across as brash, I’d like you to reconsider tea. I’m staying at the inn on King’s Street- room seventeen- and I normally have a cup tea at four if you change your mind.”

He straightened as he heard Mrs. Jenkins coming back inside. She bustled in with a basket of laundry freshly taken off the line and smiled. “Ah, Mr. Kirkland. Glad you stopped in.”

“How many times must I tell you- call me Arthur.”

“At least once more, Mr. Kirkland.” She looked over at red-faced Emma, who was clutching the bag of baked goods that England had just purchased tightly. “Emma? Are you alright?”

She gave a fake smile. “I’m fine. Uh, here, Arthur, here are your things. Have a good day.”

“You too,” He said, heading out of the warm bakery.

It was morally dubious to use Emma’s schoolgirl crush against her. England had no intention of ever being anything more than a friend to her- she was only sixteen. But if simply not acknowledging her affections to turn her down meant that he could get inside information, he was willing to stay quiet. Patriot father or no, he could make a loyalist out of her. He was sure of it.

England bit into his scone on his walk. He was heading to the house that had been serving as headquarters for General Thomas Gage, his new colleague. It wasn’t too far from the bakery and the inn, and the weather was fair, so he didn’t mind traveling there. What he didn’t like was being patted down every time he came back. Honestly, Gage took things too far.

After being allowed passage by the two soldiers who investigated his weapons’ presence (or, more appropriately, lack-there-of), he gave an irritated look to his general and placed two of the scones from the bag on Gage’s desk.

“There you go.” He said, deadpan.

The general smiled sheepishly. “Thank you. I’m sorry to send you on an errand like that, but the boy who normally-”

“Just don’t send me to fetch your scones ever again. What are you looking at?”

“A map of Boston and its surrounding areas.”

England stepped around the desk to examine it with him. “What _exactly,_ though?”

“I’m looking for a way to break out. Being trapped in Boston isn’t good for us. Not only does it make our army look weak, but it gives the impression that the rebels are having success.”

“But that’s the problem, General,” England said, irritated. “They _are_ having success.”

“Not for long. Look,” He pointed at a strip of land depicted on the map. “The Boston Neck is where they’ll have their forces clumped the most if they expect us to leave by land. But what they haven’t accounted for is the fact that our ships have still been going in and out of the harbor. We can leave by sea.”

He shook his head. “America’s not that dumb. I’m not sure exactly what is stopping us from doing that, but there’s definitely something.”

“So what do you want to do?”

“Gather more entail. We need to survey the situation better, or we’ll stumble blindly into some kind of trouble.”

The general sighed, rolling up the map. “Alright, England. We’ll worry about that later. Right now, I was hoping to ask you some questions. About yourself.”

He had been informed of England’s identity not long after Lexington in a letter signed off by the king and despite his best attempts to act like it was normal, he was struggling to understand. England appreciated the consideration, but he supposed he owed his general a few answers.

“Go on, then.”

“How long have you been alive?”

England sat down in a chair across the desk. “Since the 5th century, so… a thousand three hundred years and some change.”

“And you can’t be killed?”

“Not unless another personification kills me, there’s some kind of massive disaster back home that destroys the island, or my country is doomed to be abolished.”

Gage nodded, brow drawn tight in contemplation. “How many personifications are there?”

“I don’t know. A lot.”

He made very deliberate eye contact. “This one relates to the war. How are you connected to British America?”

“Why?”

“Because I’ve heard rumors, and I need to know if they’re true. If they are, we need to find some new approaches to this, and I need to plan around your… affections for him.”

“Well, I guess that all depends on what kind of rumors you’ve been hearing.”

Gage cleared his throat uncomfortably. “They’re saying you and America have a romantic relationship. Is that true?”

“Had. He broke up with me. Ten months, three weeks, and one day ago.”

“And you haven’t fully recovered.”

“What gave you that impression?” England said sarcastically. He sauntered over to the window and leaned against its frame, watching the city outside to avoid looking at Gage’s face.

He sighed. “Are you… What do you intend to do with him when we win?”

“Not sure.”

“He… He has committed high treason, England.”

England’s head whipped back around, eyes burning so bright that Gage almost flinched. “I don’t care. He’s not going to get that kind of treatment. Absolutely not.”

“Would it even kill him?”

“Not unless a personification inflicted it on him. I could never. And I couldn’t let someone else do that, either.”

“What would happen if humans did it?”

“He’d be in pain for the rest of eternity. What he has done doesn’t merit that kind of punishment. Let me be very, very clear, General,” England growled. “America will not be drawn and quartered. Not on my watch.”

Gage raised his hands in surrender. “Alright. I’m not saying he should receive such a penalty. And it’s not me you’d need to convince. It’s Parliament and the king.”

“And yet he’d still fall into your hands first. That brings me to my next demand.”

“Demand?” He said, raising his brows.

“Every single person you capture, I must see them before any harsh interrogation. There are certain people that are exempt from torture. That includes America. And I swear to god, if anybody fucking touches him or violates him in any way while he is in our custody, I will personally kill them, and then you. Have I made myself clear?”

He nodded, eyes wide. “Crystal.”

“Good. That’s all.”

Gage took a shaky breath. “England, if I may be blunt, we’re on the same side. My goal is not to kill your lovers and friends, it’s to win the war. If you want them unharmed, so be it; I’m not going to object. It’s your call. But if we’re going to defeat the rebels, we need to work together. If you see us as foes, we’ll never be able to do that. I understand your passion for the treatment of those you care about, but you need not threaten me. I want to help you. Now I need you to let me do that.”

He blinked in surprise. When it came to his leaders, he often had to be intimidating to be sure they listened to him. But this general was different. England quickly decided that he liked him.

Calm now, he replied, “You’re right.”

“Thank you. Now, let’s get back to the map.”

*************

It became clear to Halona rather quickly that Boston wasn’t suitable anymore. Tories were everywhere and they just kept coming. As patriots left the city to avoid confrontation, loyalists outside decided that they’d go to Boston since their towns were in rebel hands. So, every day, more and more of them showed up, preaching their Britain-based agendas and sucking up to the soldiers.

Unfortunately for Halona, she and Kaiya didn’t exactly have the finances to sell the bookshop and move to, say, Philadelphia, which meant that they were trapped in a city where ‘God save the king’ had replaced ‘no taxation without representation.’

She wasn’t sure exactly what to do. She’d gone to America’s to talk to him about it, but she found his house vacant aside from Pilgrim, who was very hungry. Kaiya was the one who realized what had happened.

“He must have gone to Lexington before the army dug in. He’s literally America; there’s no way he could get into the city without being captured, so he couldn’t come to get her.”

That was how Pilgrim ended up living with them again. Eyota still had not been returned to Halona, but she realized that she likely wouldn’t get her horse back until after the siege ended. How long that would be was unknown, but she wasn’t optimistic.

On top of all that, she had to pull all political publishings that didn’t display the crown in a positive way from her shop. Otherwise, she’d probably end up in hot water.

They made a few to visit their families (even though leaving Boston was difficult), leaving Pilgrim and River in their care of a neighbor. Without Eyota, they both had to ride Angeni there. She was a nice horse, but she was much smaller than Eyota, so there was barely enough room on the saddle for both girls. That said, Halona got to hug Kaiya around her waist for hours, even in public, so it was still enjoyable as they traversed through the woods.

Halona rested her forehead on Kaiya’s shoulder, inhaling deeply. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

“You smell good, like freshly baked bread.”

Kaiya hummed in confusion, coaxing Angeni to the left down another path in the peaceful forest. “I didn’t do any baking today. I’m not sure why I would.”

“You always smell like that,” Halona murmured, kissing Kaiya on the shell of her ear. “I like it.”

“Well, that’s good.”

She chuckled and buried her face back in Kaiya’s neck. “Hey, I was wondering, what do you think is going to happen to our tribe now that America’s revolution has begun?”

Kaiya grimaced. “I can’t say for sure. I think other tribes will be getting involved. We may be a peaceful people, but you know as well as I do that that’s not a uniform characteristic. I’m sure the Mohawks will take someone’s side. The other Iroquois tribes are less predictable.”

The Oneida tribe, the tribe one that Kaiya and Halona were from, was one of six tribes that made up the Iroquois, a collective term that stemmed from their somewhat shared language. It also included the Cayuga, Mohawk, Onondaga, Seneca, and Tuscarora tribes.

In general, they tried to work together as best as possible, but each tribe was unique despite their community, meaning that they didn’t always see eye-to-eye. Differences in opinion could easily lead to tribes being pitted against each other and maybe even people of the same tribe on opposite sides of the war.

Best case scenario, they’d be able to stay neutral and away from the conflict, but Halona had heard enough stories passed down from their ancestors to know that they probably wouldn’t come out unscathed. The colonists were an invasive species, one that she’d done her best to embrace, but the fact of the matter was that whether they were neutral or not, they were going to get hurt. Such was the way of the white men.

For now, though, the forest was quiet aside from the chirps of birds and the sound of Angeni’s hooves plodding down the trail. Massachusetts wore spring well. Each leaf was a vibrant green, the sky was crystal blue, and the breeze smelled like Earth.

A river ran in the distance. Halona couldn’t see it, but she could hear the rush of the water, so she pecked a kiss on Kaiya’s cheek to get her attention. “Kaiya?”

“Hmm?”

“You hear the river, right?”

“Yes. Do you want to stop?” Kaiya offered, slowing Angeni down.

Halona nodded. “I could use a stretch. Angeni probably needs a drink, too, so we can kill two birds with one stone.”

“You’ve convinced me,” She said, steering her mare in the direction of the sound.

Just as they had suspected, a river was snaking through the woods with fresh, cool water. The surrounding trees were tall and healthy, homing squirrels, chipmunks, birds, and all kinds of other animals.

Some rocks jutted out over the river beside a mild grassy slope that led right to the waterline. Halona scuttled onto the rocks and began unlacing her boots hastily, fumbling with the strings until she could yank them off, hike up her skirts, and dip her feet in.

Kaiya laughed at her enthusiasm, leading Angeni down the slope for a drink. “You’re excited.”

“My feet were hot.”

She smiled and let go of Angeni’s reins so that she could sit down beside Halona, removing her boots much more gracefully.

When her feet submerged, she shivered. “Oh, that does feel good.”

“See? I knew stopping was a good idea.”

“You were right.”

Kaiya smiled and lay down, looking up at the cloudless sky and dragging her toes through the water. “This is perfect, ‘Lona.”

Halona smiled and nervously shoved her hands in her pockets. “Kaiya, I wanted to ask you something.”

Knitting her brow, Kaiya sat up. “What? Is everything okay?”

“Yes, yes, it’s all fine. Better than fine, actually. It’s great.” She paused and flushed. “What I mean is that things are really good. I don’t know how or why you love me, but I know that in my eyes, it’s a miracle. I often get consumed by my own past, trapped in my thoughts. I’m scared of myself and failure and losing people. My mind is a battlefield. But when I’m falling apart, you put me back together; you give me hope. You know about all of my faults and wrongdoings. You know that I’m bad at coping with my emotions. You know I’m hard to love. You know I don’t think before I act. But somehow, you still care about me, and not just as a lover. You’re first and foremost my best friend. Ever since childhood, you’ve been by my side, through the highs and lows. My happiest memories are the ones I made with you. Your smile makes my heart skip a beat every time I see it, your kisses are like coming home, and when I hold your hand, everything just falls into place.” To emphasize her point, Halona took Kaiya’s hand, squeezing it tightly. “So, obviously, I fell in love with you, and every day it’s just you, you, you. You’re all I need, Kaiya, because when it’s dark, you’re my light. So, I want to do something. Something to show you how much you mean to me. I want to ask you to be mine- forever.”

Kaiya’s eyes widened as Halona produced a silver band from her pocket and looked at her hopefully. “So, what do you say?”

She felt her eyes water as she nodded and threw her arms around Halona. “Yes! Yes, yes, yes, god, yes!”

Halona gave a relieved laugh and hugged her back. Then, she gave her a kiss and slid the band onto her finger. “I love you so much, Kaiya.”

“I love you, too.” She stopped. “Wait, but we can’t get married. It’s not legal in the colonies.”

She shrugged. “We don’t need a priest of a religion we don’t believe in to validate our relationship. As far as I’m concerned, we’re engaged, and we can have a small ceremony with our close friends and family present. Maybe legally, we won’t be married. But some documents at the courthouse or lack thereof doesn’t change anything.”

Unable to hold back, her beaming smile returned. “That sounds perfect.”

Tenderly, Halona kissed her once more, scooting closer to cradle her face and press their foreheads together once they broke to catch their breath. “You’re the love of my life, Kaiya.”

“And you’re mine.”


	19. Canada

“I hope we shall never think of [stopping] till we see America prostrate at our feet.” -Prime Minister Frederick North

England carefully poured piping hot tea into each of the two cups. He set the pot down and picked up his saucer with his cup carefully centered on it, examining the steaming beverage within. Pretty well brewed, if he did say so himself.

Across from him, Emma Jenkins did the same. She lifted the cup to take a drink, but England stopped her abruptly. “Wait! It’s too hot.”

“Oh.” She blushed, setting it back down. “Right.”

He smiled and studied her carefully, deciding a bit of small talk would be a good preface to the main topic of conversation on the table. “I’m very pleased you decided to join me.”

“Thank you for inviting me.”

“Well, of course. We have important business to discuss.” He blew on his tea and took a tiny sip before setting the cup and saucer down on the table. “Now, Emma. Have you given thought to what I said at your shop?”

Hesitantly, she nodded. “Yes.”

He raised a brow. “And?”

“I, um, I believe you made some good points. The odds of the patriots winning are low. My father… his decision to join them was not a good one.”

“Why do you say that?” He asked, testing the waters.

She shrugged. “He put our family in danger. What are we to do if he dies? We need him. Enlisting was selfish.”

“I understand. You must feel angry. And sad, too. Abandoned, maybe. I mean, he chose to fight a fool’s war over you and your family.”

Emma’s gaze dropped. “I guess.”

“He betrayed you, love. To think he ran off to live in nasty trenches and shoot people instead of caring for you, your mother, your brother, and your sister is just absurd.”

“When you put it like that…” She set her saucer on the table to fold her hands in her lap. England didn’t miss how her fingers tangled and anxiously tugged at her skirt. “You’re right.”

The personification sighed heavily. “I’m so sorry this happened to you. You didn’t deserve that.”

“I just miss him so much,” She confessed, voice cracking.

He nodded, making his expression as sympathetic as possible. “I know. If only this war weren’t happening. You five would all be at the bakery together.”

“Like old times.”

“Exactly.”

She sniffed. “You know, he taught me how to knead dough. I was very young and not very good at it, but he would spend hours with me, showing me what to do, getting flour all over us, and dancing around the kitchen. He was a good father. I never expected him to just up and leave.”

“He didn’t warn you?”

“No! He just left a note explaining where he went and apologizing. He didn’t even say goodbye.” Her breathing was labored as she explained what happened. “It’s not fair.”

He gave his best comforting smile. “It’s not. But if the war were to end, your father would come home.”

She scoffed. “Yeah, and get executed for treason.”

“Miss Jenkins, I thought we knew each other better than that,” England said in a teasingly stern tone.

“What?”

“I’m not going to let your father be executed.”

Emma shook her head in confusion. “I don’t understand. He’s a traitor. They’re killing traitors.”

“I’m very high on the chain of command in the army. I am also a personal friend of General Thomas Gage, the Prime Minister, many Parliament members, and the king himself. If I say he lives, he lives.”

Her eyes went wide, and she brushed away her tears, suddenly very focused on England. “That’s amazing.”

“I’d only ask one favor in return.”

There was a wary look on her face as she considered his words. “What kind of favor?”

“We need more information. Forget guns and cannons- entail is the most dangerous weapon of all, and I’d wager it’s what will cause the rebel’s defeat. But it’s not like I can get it from just anywhere. Things like espionage are delicate. I need people I can trust to gather such things.”

“Wait, you want me to be a spy?” She gasped.

He chuckled at the plainness of her statement. “To put it bluntly, yes.”

Emma blanched and took a drink of her tea to stall before answering. “I see.”

“I know it’s a lot to ask. But I want your father to come home to you in one piece. Every day this war drags on is another chance for him to be hurt. Not just him, but many of our friends and neighbors. Alfred is out there, too. It’s our duty to get this over with so that they can be safe again.”

Emma was very quiet for a few moments, staring down at her tea. For a minute, England thought she might say no. The tightness in her expression was more than enough to show her conflict, but she finally nodded. “Okay. I’ll do it.”

England couldn’t help but grin. “Excellent. When it is time for your first mission, I’ll contact you.”

“How?”

“When I purchase some baked goods from your shop, I’ll hand over a fake coin. It’ll have an engraving of a leaf on it. Hold onto it and when you’re alone, pull it apart. Inside will be a message for you telling you what to do. You’ll do as it says, and when you have completed your mission, I will know because whenever I come to see you, I will ask for my favorite order. You will say either, ‘Coming right up’ if you have finished the task or ‘Okay’ if not. On the day you can say the former, put a note in the coin naming a time and place we can meet. Put the coin in with the bread. We’ll confer then.”

She laughed nervously. “Wow. That’s… a lot.”

“I think you can handle it. And, I believe it goes without saying, but this is confidential. This conversation never happened, and you may tell no one about what is happening.”

“I won’t,” Emma promised. “And I won’t let you down.”

“I know you won’t. Now, would you like a scone?”

*************

Canada popped his coat collar up to hide his lower face and tugged his hat down to obscure his eyes. The streets were dark and empty, but one could never be too careful.

He turned down an alley and stopped, waiting nervously for his brother to arrive. Canada had made the trip all the way from his home to Charlestown, Massachusetts, just to have this conversation. The risk of his mail getting intercepted was too great, and even with a code, it wasn’t safe to send this message on paper. It must happen in person.

America stuffed his hands in his pockets and ducked into the alley, spotting Canada leaning against the wall. He grinned and hugged him. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Canada replied, keeping his voice low.

“What was so important that you came to Charlestown? You’re a long way from home.” America asked, assuming Canada’s position beside the building.

“I have nothing to tell you- I have something to ask you. Remember how you sent me a letter a while ago asking if I’d take part in your revolution against England?”

Feeling hope building in his chest, America nodded. “Yeah. Did you change your mind?”

“It’s not my mind that has to change. I’d support you, but my people don’t back the plan. That said, we don’t like being under British rule. While we may not be willing to rebel, we may not fight very hard against invaders, if you know what I mean.”

America shook his head. “No, I don’t get what you’re saying.”

“I need your help. I need you to take Quebec. I don’t want to be England’s puppet, especially if he tries to force me to fight you and subdue your rebellion. The sooner you take me away from England’s control, the better.”

“Whoa, whoa, slow down,” America said, pushing off the wall to face his brother. “You want me to invade your land and capture Quebec?”

“Yes.”

“And your people are on board?”

“Somewhat. We’re still bitter about England swiping us away from France twelve years ago. They’re not going to be thrilled to change hands again, but there would be no rebellion afterward.”

He exhaled slowly, trying to process everything Canada said. “‘Change hands.’ So you want to… what? Be my territory?”

“Not really, but it’s better than being England’s.”

“But, Canada, I don’t want to be in charge of you. You’re my brother, not my subject.”

“Then don’t boss me around. Look, ‘Mer, I can’t fight you. If England forces my hand, I’ll lose it. We can’t go to war again. This would save us from that.”

“Your people don’t support this, though.”

Canada shrugged. “They aren’t necessarily opposed to it, though, either. America, please, I’m begging you. Don’t let England control me anymore. Take me with you. I’ve got a lot of land, and the fur trade is very successful. I have a lot of ports for whaling and cod fishing and-”

“Hey, hey, hey. Calm down. You don’t have to convince me of your worth or something. You’re my brother- that’s enough for me.”

“So… You’ll help me?” Canada asked tentatively.

“Of course. The Continental Congress is meeting in twelve days. When it does, I’m going to tell them about my identity, and I’ll inform them about this conversation.”

Rapidly, Canada shook his head. “No, no, you can’t do that.”

“I can’t?”

“If England finds out we’re conspiring, he’ll kill me!”

America groaned. “Alright. I’ll just suggest invading. How strong is your military force?”

“Why?”

“Because you’re going to have to fight back some to avoid suspicion, and I want to get an estimate of how many of my men are going to die before we reach Quebec.”

His gaze dropped. “I’m sorry, ‘Mer.”

“It’s okay. You’re my brother- I’m willing to launch the campaign. Besides, there’s been talk of it already, just not serious talk, and it would be beneficial to my country politically. And, you know, maybe it could be a partnership instead of a county-colony relationship.”

“You’re trying to convince yourself. You don’t want to do this.”

“Well, I’m not excited about fighting you, and it seems counterproductive. If the whole point of this operation is to avoid war with each other, then this is kind of a stupid plan.”

“But this won’t be a real war.”

“The men don’t know that.”

“You and I do.”

America sighed, glancing at the ground. “I can’t make any promises except that I’ll do my best.”

“That’s all I ask.”

He hugged Canada again, feeling a weight build in his chest. “I miss you so much.”

Canada ran a hand through his hair comfortingly. “I miss you, too. It’s lonely in my cabin by myself.”

“I know what you mean.” He released him and stepped back reluctantly. “I’ll see you again as soon as I can.”

“Okay.”

America turned to leave, but Canada caught him by saying, “Wait!”

“What?”

He smiled sadly at his brother. “Be careful, okay?”

“I will.”

*************

America was able to get authorization for one of his generals, Benedict Arnold, to take Fort Ticonderoga within six days. Ticonderoga was a fort in British hands that helped them get to British Canadian troops up north. It was essential for communication and moving supplies to the redcoats. Sure, it was only step one in an extensive plan to free Canada, but it was an important step nonetheless.

In other news, his forces had captured Skenesburough, New York, moving them forward in their conquest of their own cities.

While all of that was important, America was much more worried about his meeting. Congress was reconvening at the Pennsylvania State House in Philadelphia, and he was nervous. He didn’t have to speak much during the last session, but this time he would have to confess his identity. It was a big jump.

Guilt was already nagging at him. He had close friends in Congress: Samuel Adams, John Adams, and Silas Deane, specifically. They might be upset that he never told them who he was. Samuel would end up having words with him afterward, for sure. John would be civil about it but go back home to rant to his wife, Abigail Adams. And Silas? Ugh, America could already see the sad look of hurt on Silas’ face before he assured America that he was fine.

The room was uncomfortably crowded; there were way more delegates here this time, especially since Georgia decided to join. Men jostled around, and America had to squeeze through them to reach the Massachusetts section. Like last time, Samuel Adams, John Adams, Thomas Cushing III, and Robert Treat Paine were there, but there were also seven newcomers.

America went to John since he was sitting closer and grinned. “John!”

“Alfred! Glad you could make it.”

Samuel pushed his cousin out of the way to greet America. “Hello, Alfred. Thank god you showed up. Robert and Thomas have been arguing for at least twenty minutes.”

“Wow. You got here early.”

“Better early than late,” said someone else, teasingly.

America turned around and smiled when he saw who it was. “Hancock. Good to see you still alive.”

He chuckled. “All thanks to you and your friends’ ride.”

“Who are all these new people?” America asked, glancing at the Massachusetts delegates that he didn’t recognize.

Hancock chuckled and gestured to a very feminine looking man with soft curls, who was shuffling through papers, tuning out the rest of the world. “That’s Francis Dana. Don’t let the whole pretty-boy thing fool you, though. He’s fiery.”

After, he nodded to a man with sharp features and an angry look on his face. “That’s Elbridge Gerry. He was invited to the first meeting, but his father had just died, so he declined. I don’t know much about him, but I’ve heard he’s got a mouth. And there, the short one, his name is Samuel Holten. A doctor. I’m not sure why he’s here. Next to him, the one with a face like a dinner plate, he’s James Lovell. He and John are already getting on well, and he seems nice. And that one-”

“I know who that is. Artemas Ward.” America said, observing a man with a critical look in his eye. “But who is the guy next to him?”

“I don’t know. You’ll have to go ask.”

America frowned. “No. I’ll get to it later. Actually, I needed to talk to you.”

“Should I be worried?”

“Uh…” America laughed nervously. “Maybe. Hey, Sam, John, I need you, too.”

They stopped their conversation and turned to America, waiting expectantly.

“I have to present today, and I’m going to share some information with everyone that may be surprising and even downright unbelievable. Basically, I just want you to know that you can ask me as many questions as you want after the session today. You could ask them during my presentation, too, I guess, but those questions will be more professional. We can talk about personal concerns later. I’m getting side-tracked, sorry. Just… I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you sooner, and I hope you will understand why I didn’t.”

Samuel blinked in confusion. “Um, okay? I don’t suppose you’d tell us right now, would you?”

“There’s not enough time, and I have to go find Silas so I can warn him, too,” America grimaced. “I’ll be right back.”

He pushed his way through the crowd, feeling even more nervous than before. Silas would be the real test. Samuel and Hancock’s yelling, he could handle. John’s passive aggression, he could get over. But if Silas were upset, that’d be more difficult to handle.

Beside one of the windows, he found him was talking to one of his fellow Connecticut representatives. He laughed at something the man said before he noticed America.

“Alfred!” He called, excusing himself from his conversation and joining America. “Ready for today? I heard you’re presenting.”

“About that…” He repeated what he’d said to his other friends and watched Silas slowly process the information.

“Oh,” He said when America was done. “Okay. Well, I’m sure you had a good reason to keep whatever this is from me. I trust you, Alfie.”

“Thanks, Si.”

“Anytime.”

Peyton Randolph clapped his hands loudly to bring order to the room. Like last time, he was presiding over the meeting. His responsible, fair personality was perfect for keeping the delegates from killing each other.

“Gentlemen! Take your seats!” He ordered. They all did as he said, and America found himself sitting between the Adams cousins. “Thank you. Today, the first to present is Alfred F. Jones from Massachusetts Bay.”

Peyton sat down in his seat, and America shakily got to his feet, going to the center of the white room and looking out at the sea of faces. Silas gave him an encouraging smile, prompting him to begin.

“I have an announcement to make. One that may be difficult to believe and understand. I will take questions after I finish. Some of you may have heard rumors or stories that float through political wings about beings that personify nations, colonies, empires, and other geographical areas. They are often dismissed as being tall tales, but I can testify that they are, indeed, true. Here, I have various old documents from Parliament members and one from even the king himself verifying what I have said.” He handed them to Peyton Randolph, who was staring at him like he’d grown a second head. “I am aware of these things because I happen to be one of these personifications. I represent Connecticut, Delaware, Georgia, Maryland, Massachusetts, New Hampshire, New Jersey, New York, North Carolina, Pennsylvania, Rhode Island, South Carolina, and Virginia, and I have decided that we have reached a point in our government where you need to know. Mr. Randolph, if you please, examine those documents and inform the congress of their legitimacy.”

He scanned the first page, then flipped through multiple more in utter disbelief. “I… They seem genuine.”

A representative of South Carolina stood up, scoffing. “Impossible. Let me see them!”

Everything erupted into chaos with people shouting and clamoring to see the papers for themselves. Peyton banged his gavel to get them to quiet down. “Order, order! I will pass these documents around, and you can all examine them for yourselves, but it seems that Mr. Jones is telling the truth. He- sorry, is that the name you go by or…?”

“No. People that know about my existence just call me America.”

He risked a glance over at the Connecticut section. Silas’ face was hard to read, but he didn’t appear angry, at least. Over in the Massachusetts section, his other friends were talking amongst themselves rapidly.

Once Peyton got everyone back under control, America took questions. They went through the usual ones about which personifications exist, his lifespan, and how the whole concept worked.

Out of the corner of his eye, America noticed Silas raising his hand, so he selected him next. “Mr. Deane from Connecticut.”

Anxiously, he cleared his throat. “I was going to ask why this is such a secret.”

“Because if our identities were publicly known, we wouldn’t be able to operate as easily. Communication would be risky, and people would pry- things like that. Personally, I don’t think it’s a big deal, but it is the way things have always been done, and I see no real reason to change that.”

“Ah. Thank you.”

“My pleasure.”

The room fell uncomfortably quiet as the delegates ran out of questions. Peyton Randolph saved the day by getting the meeting to move along again.

“So, Mr. America,” Peyton began uncertainly.

“Just America is fine.”

“Oh. Right. Well, thank you, America, for sharing. Unless anyone has any more questions, I believe we should move on to the next item on the agenda.” No one raised their hand. “The Congress now recognizes Mr. Caesar Rodney from Delaware.”

America went back to his chair and sat down stiffly between the Adamses. Samuel was upon him in an instant, whispering a million questions faster than America could even think.

“Sam, calm down. We’ll talk after the meeting.”

He grumbled something and crossed his arms, leaning back in his seat. While he was annoyed about having to be patient, he didn’t seem angry about America’s confession. John, beside him, didn’t appear to be mad, either. If anything, he looked confused. America couldn’t see Silas from his seat, but he hoped that everything would work out alright between them. He’d acted normal during his question, so maybe that line of thinking wasn’t even wishful.

Hours passed, and America decided that he officially hated Congressional meetings. His legs ached from being cramped, his neck was strained from craning to see the delegates, and his back hurt from hunching over his notes. Not even his lunch break could satisfy him, mostly because Francis Dana and Elbridge Gerry were arguing the whole time. They’d immediately become enemies within one day of knowing each other and were even more disruptive than Robert Treat Paine and Thomas Cushing.

Adjournment had never felt so good.

America gathered his things sluggishly, glancing out the window. The sun had set, and he was more than ready to go to bed. He was staying with Dr. Benjamin Franklin, a prominent man in Pennsylvania for a wide variety of reasons, who kindly offered him a room so that he didn’t have to stay at an inn. Silas was staying with them, too, which brought comfort.

Unfortunately, John and Samuel Adams seized him and led him outside under an oak tree to talk, meaning that he wouldn’t get to go to sleep as soon as he would have liked.

“How many of you are there?” Was John’s first question.

Samuel’s face was full of awe. “This is amazing, Alf- I mean, America. God, I can hardly believe it.” 

“Uh, a lot, John.”

Samuel was ready to burst with excitement. “Can I see that extra strength you mentioned?”

America laughed and shook his head. “Not out here in the open. Sorry, Sam. But, you guys aren’t angry?”

“No, we get why you didn’t tell us. Don’t worry about it.”

“Thanks,” He said with a relieved smile. “In that case, I need to get back to Dr. Franklin’s house to have him look over an essay for me before he retires, and Silas is going to worry if I’m out late.”

John nodded and patted his shoulder in a friendly way. “You’re tired. Point taken. We’ll see you tomorrow.”

“See you then.”

He gave a wave and headed down the Philadelphia streets to Franklin’s house. It was a nice home- brick with neat trim. In America’s opinion, there were far too many windows, but it did give off a zeal of freedom when they were open and the curtains fluttered in May’s wind.

The key was deep in his pocket, and with all of his things in his arms, it took some complicated maneuvering to get it out and turn it in the keyhole. With a whine, the door opened, and America made a mental note to oil the hinges.

Silas was in the sitting room with Dr. Franklin. He jumped up when America came in to help him with all his things. “Whoa, careful!”

“Thanks, Si,” America said, now with half of what he had initially been carrying. “Can you help me take it to our room?”

He grabbed a candle. “Sure.”

America led the way up the stairs to the guest bedroom. Inside were two beds, one on the left wall and one on the right. At their feet were chests and beside them were nightstands covered in papers.

Night made it oppressively dark- the only light was the small flame on the candle Silas was clutching by the swirly silver handle of the candle holder. In the flame’s glow, his hickory-hued hair shone at the tips, and the amber flecks in his bronze eyes caught the light behind long lashes. Silas had a rounded face that made him look younger than he was, much to his dismay, but America had told him time and time again that it was a favorable trait. In that lighting, he looked like the picture of angelic grace.

Gently, Silas set the candle down on the top of his trunk so that he could assist America in putting his things away. While he wasn’t the kind of person to constantly feel the urge to fill the silence, he was notably reticent that night.

“Are you okay?” America asked, studying his features for any clues to what he was thinking. But that was the thing with Silas- he was hard to read.

Silas shrugged half-heartedly and sat down on the chest. “Not really. I guess I know why you didn’t tell me. Logically, it makes sense, and I have no valid reason to be upset, but somehow I still feel sad about it. It’s just… I thought I knew you. But, as it turns out, I don’t know you at all. Hell, I didn’t even know your name.”

He sank down on his own chest across from Silas’. “Your feelings are completely valid. I lied to you- anyone would feel betrayed. But you do know me. Maybe there were surface-y details you didn’t know about- my family, name, and age, for instance, but those aren’t the core of my identity. I promise you, Silas, you know me.”

A ghost of a smile danced over his face. “You should probably go back downstairs. Dr. Franklin probably has a lot of questions.”

“What about you?”

“I’m exhausted; I’m going to go to bed.” He grabbed another candle and lit it with the one that was already burning for America to use on his way downstairs.

“Are you sure?”

Silas laughed. “Go, I’m fine. Just don’t let the doctor keep you up all night with his interrogation- you need rest, too.”

“If you say so.”

“G’night, America.”

“Good night.”

*************

April 26, 1775

Dear Canada,

I have some exciting news. Halona and I are getting married! It may not be a legalized union in the colonies, but we’re going to have a small ceremony on May 23rd. I know it’s sudden, but things in Boston are getting more dangerous every day, and we need to do important things sooner rather than later.

While official weddings cannot be held for couples like Halona and me, our elders have approved it, meaning that we will be married in accordance with our tribe’s traditions. There was a slight hassle in getting the elders’ approval (one was hesitant), but marriage between two people of the same gender wasn’t included in the list of forbidden marriages, so the others convinced him. Our ceremony will take place in the evening with all the members of our tribe that want to come- notably our families.

I know what you’re wondering. Yes, we have invited both America and England. They both accepted, fully aware that the other will be there, and promised that they would be civil. There’s a chance they may use the common meeting place for military gain, but I don’t think they would do that to Halona and me.

We hope you will come- it would mean a lot to us. You were with us through the most challenging time in our lives and continue to be not just a friend, but our family.

If you can’t come, we understand. Although, you’ll probably get a strongly worded letter from Halona in the mail. You know how she is.

Anyway, that aside, how are you doing? How are your people?

Here in Boston, tensions rise every day. At first, there were more patriots than loyalists, but that quickly changed. Rebels have left the city to flee the redcoats, and Tories have run into the city for the protection of the British army.

England visits the bookshop sometimes, but not very often. Things have been awkward, even though Halona and I haven’t taken sides. Maybe that’s the whole reason it’s awkward. Either way, we don’t see much of him.

The Jenkinses are managing. Robert Jenkins joined the rebels outside of town, meaning that Amelia and Emma are running the bakery. They’re doing a good job, but they seem very stressed- especially Emma. Poor Jordan is sick again, but Laura is as cheery as ever.

I hope to hear from you soon.

With love,

Kaiya


	20. The Wedding

“Always remember those tender proofs I have so frequently given you of mine and preserve for me unabated the only blessing which can make life of any value to me.” -Alexander Hamilton

America stood close to Canada when he followed Kaiya into their village. Around them, people laughed, spoke in a language he couldn’t understand, and went about their lives. A large fire with meats cooking over it was burning in the center, and longhouses filled the area in neat rows. Tall pine fences circled the village, filling the air with their delicious smell. In fact, everything around them smelled good, like earth and rain.

“Here we are!” Kaiya announced. She let them step into her longhouse first before following behind them. “Home sweet home.”

It looked exactly like the longhouse he grew up in. “I love it. It’s comforting.”

“My sister says the same thing. Okay, so over here is your bed,” She said, pointing to a large platform covered in blankets and furs. “I know you guys don’t like sleeping alone, so since there are not many open beds, I figured we could put you together. If you need separate ones, we could probably set up another…”

Canada smiled. “It’s perfect. Thank you.”

“No problem. You can store your things underneath them, and there’s plenty of food. Don’t worry, we’ll keep an eye on you- you won’t miss dinner. If you need anything, let me know.”

America laughed. “Kaiya, you’re getting married in two days! Don’t worry about us.”

“Okay,” She said, wringing her hands. “I just don’t want you guys to feel uncomfortable. It’s not Boston, I know, and I also know that it’s hard to live somewhere where you don’t speak the language. My first two years in Boston were so stressful. I barely spoke any English. Also, it’s a different culture, and Halona and I are the only ones you know here.”

“You’re being very considerate,” America said, “But I promise, you don’t need to fret over us. We still know a few simple phrases in Oneida, right, Mattie?”

Canada nodded. “Yeah. I can still say hello, goodbye, how are you doing, thank you, and I’m sorry. Oh, and I remember o·tá·”

America looked at him quizzically. “What does that mean?”

“Poop.”

“Wow.”

“Hey, it’s been over a hundred years!” Canada protested, crossing his arms.

Kaiya gave him a reassuring smile. “I think that was very good, Matthew.”

“See? Very good.”

“Well, anyway. I should tell you that, uh, Arthur already arrived.” She said, scratching the back of her neck uncomfortably. “He came yesterday. Halona and I decided that you guys should probably stay on different ends of the house, so Arthur’s bed is down there with Halona’s family.” 

America couldn’t have been more thankful. “That’s really, really good. So, we’re with your family?”

“Yes. My bed is just over there,” She gestured vaguely to the left, “And my mom’s, too. Kanatase, my brother, is the one sleeping in the bed closest to yours. Don’t worry, you’ll like him. He speaks a little bit of English, so he could probably help you, too. There’s a Presbyterian pastor from New York named Samuel here, too. He’s staying with the neighbors to the right for the wedding. He speaks fluent English and Oneida.”

A woman with a nervous expression came over, putting a hand on Kaiya’s shoulder and saying something in Oneida.

Kaiya responded with a few words in her native tongue before smiling apologetically at the brothers. “Sorry, I need to go help my aunt. Maybe you can settle in while I’m gone.”

“Go ahead; we’ll be fine.” Canada set his bag down on the bed. “Promise.”

Her sister whisked her away, so America began unpacking his things. “I’m so glad they get to be married. It’s a shame that the colonists are putting pressure on their cultures. Some tribes are changing their rules so prevent marriage between two men or women to avoid harassment.”

Canada nodded in agreement and shoved his stuff under the bed. “How are you doing with Arthur here?”

“Fine. I’m determined to cooperate while we’re here. Kaiya and Halona deserve a wedding where they aren’t constantly worrying that fighting will break out. It’s their day. I think I’ll try to talk to him at dinner tonight to ensure things run smoothly.”

“What’ll you say?”

“Not sure. I’ll probably say that I want Kaiya and Halona’s wedding to go well and point out that it’s our job to get along.”

“And if he doesn’t listen?”

“He will. But just in case, I was hoping you’d be there to mediate. You’re a common thread for us, and as far as he knows, you haven’t taken any sides in this war. It could be a good opportunity to seem more neutral and facilitate things.”

He sat down on the bed with a heavy sigh. “You’re right. I’ll keep the peace if things get dicey.”

“Thanks, Mattie.” America pulled him into a hug and squeezed tight. “You’re an incredible brother, you know that? I love you.”

“Awww, Al! I love you, too.”

*************

America’s heart thudded in his chest so hard he thought he might die. Nothing sounded better than running back to the longhouse and crawling under his bed, but he had to do this. It was for Kaiya and Halona.

Doing his best to hide his trembling, he walked up to England. “Arthur?”

At the sound of his voice, England wheeled around, eyes wide. “O- Oh. Alfred. Hello.”

“Hello.”

Conversation petered off, and they both found themselves grasping for words. England got them first. “Uh, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Right! Um, I wanted to talk to you about Kaiya and Halona’s wedding. Us, too.”

“Us?”

“Yes. I promised Kaiya that I would do my best to get along with you while we were here, but I wanted to make sure we both understood since cooperation goes two ways.”

He laughed bitterly. “What, you’re not going to use their wedding as an opportunity for you and your ragtag men to ambush me?”

“Of course not. Why would you think that?”

“Well, your armies are fond of cowardly ways of doing battle. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten what you did to my men when they were retreating from Concord.”

Canada swooped in with perfect timing, saving them from the rising tension. “Hey, guys. This food is delicious, don’t you think?”

England gave a tight smile. “Quite.”

Oh, god.

*************

Halona was seriously considering murdering her sister. Aarushi was four years her junior and still thought that she could tell Halona what to do, plus she had an insufferable habit of providing her opinions when they were not wanted.

“They’re kind of mouse-looking, don’t you think?” Aarushi said in Oneida, staring at America and Canada while she strung beads onto a thread for a dress she was making. “And skinny. I bet they couldn’t lift a thing.”

Halona snorted, glancing at the brothers who were sitting cross-legged on a mat in front of the fire, chatting. “They’re stronger than you give them credit for being.”

“Hmm. Well, I still don’t understand why you want them here. They know nothing of our ways, they don’t speak Oneida, and they’re part of the very same group who harasses people like us.”

“They’re my friends, Aarushi, and I want them at my wedding. I don’t understand why you’re so mad about it. It’s not like they’ve been anything but respectful and kind during their stay.”

“It’s only been a day.”

“You need to be less prejudiced.”

“Tell that to the white men you invited into our home!” She hissed. “Their kind have massacred ours. And for what? Some land? They aren’t trustworthy.”

“What are you going to do about it, huh?” Halona demanded, setting down the section of the dress she had been beading. “It’s _my_ wedding, they’re _my_ friends, and _I_ say that they’re perfectly trustworthy.”

“It’s _our_ village, though. I’m not the only one unhappy with those three being here, Halona. They are not safe.”

She scowled. “If you’re so mad, don’t attend.”

“Halona,” She said as if she were scolding a child, “There’s no reason for you to get so defensive.” 

“Just like there’s no reason for you to mistreat my friends. Deganawidah told me about you purposely pushing Matthew yesterday. Look, I get your reservations. I do. But we must be kind to them until they give us a reason not to, right? That’s what our elders say, and they wouldn’t approve of your behavior, either.”

“If mother were here, she’d tell you the same thing I did.”

Halona froze, and her tone turned icy. “Don’t you dare use mother against me.”

“Why not?”

“First of all, because you’re wrong. And second of all, because you’re making stuff up to guilt me into listening to you.”

“I don’t need to make anything up to make you feel guilty. The truth will do that just fine on its own. Mother was sick, and you were with the settlers! Aliquippa cared for her every day, and when she was getting closer to her end, she would get confused and ask where you were. We had to remind her that you left daily. And even if she denied it when she was sane, we all knew you were her favorite child, so we had to tell her that her favorite left her.”

“I didn’t leave her!”

“Yes, you did! You ran off with Kaiya and abandoned us! Aliquippa had to take care of the little ones by herself.”

“I left for Boston _before_ Mother got sick!”

“And yet Kaiya kept you away. You chose her over us once before, and now you’re doing it again.” 

Halona stood up, glaring daggers at her sister. “Is that what this is about? You’re upset because I’m getting married? Why can’t you just be happy for me?”

“Because Kaiya is the one that dragged you away! She was the one that was going to that disgusting city, and you chose to follow her!”

Others in the house were starting to notice the unrest, looking over at the scene unfolding before them and wondering what to do.

“It’s _my_ life, Aarushi! I can do what I want with it, and I wanted to follow Kaiya!”

“We needed you!”

_“I_ needed _her!”_

America heard the shouting and came over, Canada right on his heels. England seemed to have had the same idea because he was winding his way through the crowded building to see what was going on, too.

Kanatase stepped forward, hoping to calm them down, but one look from Halona stopped him in his tracks.

“Your actions were selfish!” Aarushi accused. “You didn’t care that Mother didn’t want you to go!”

“She said she was okay with it!”

“She was lying! She wanted you to be happy!”

“And why don’t you?” Halona questioned, making Aarushi stumble in her assault.

“I do. I just don’t like that you left with Kaiya. She wasn’t worth time with your family.”

“Yes, she was.”

Kaiya pushed her way through the throng of people to get to her fiancee, having entered the longhouse only a moment ago. “What’s going on here?”

“Oh, look, here she is now!” Aarushi crowed. “Why don’t I tell her exactly what we’ve been fighting about?”

“Stop it!” Halona shouted, eyes flashing with anger. She shoved her into the nearby wall and snarled. “Leave her alone.”

“Halona, don’t,” Kaiya said, grabbing her arm and tugging gently. “Let her go.”

There was a moment of suspense before Halona released her sister and stepped back. “Fine.”

Aarushi laughed. “Awww, that’s so cute! Do you always act like Kaiya’s bitch?”

“Oh, you little-”

“Halona! Stop!” Kaiya commanded, putting herself between them. “Aarushi, what is all this about?”

“You! Stealing my sister!”

In the most diplomatic tone she could summon, Kaiya replied, “Halona can make her own decisions. I never stole anyone. Clearly, that hurt you, and I know it’s easier to blame me than it is to face the fact that she _chose_ to come to Boston with me. But if you truly love her, you need to calm down to think about her feelings and what _she_ wants.”

Aarushi shook her head and stormed out. One of Halona’s other sisters ran after her while Kanatase faced the crowd. “Don’t you all have things to do?”

Called out, they dispersed. Canada took America’s hand, pulling lightly. “We should give them space.”

America nodded and followed him back to the fire.

Kaiya regarded Halona with concern. “Honey, what happened?”

“She was just being jealous, and then she brought up our mother and-” Halona stopped, swallowing her anger.

“I’m sorry that happened,” Kanatase offered. “But we all know how Aarushi gets worked up. She’ll come around soon.”

“I hope so.”

*************

America sat up in the bed abruptly with a choked sound. His chest was so tight that he felt like he couldn’t breathe. Canada was sleeping soundly beside him, breathing softly with the blanket tucked under his chin.

“Canada!” America whispered, grabbing his arm and shaking him.

He cracked an eye and mumbled something unintelligible. “What?”

“I had a nightmare.”

Canada sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “Which one? Ellis? The war? Your early winters? Mother?”

“None of those, actually. It was the one where you faded,” America admitted, allowing Canada to pull him back down and into his arms.

“I’m right here.”

He breathed deeply, inhaling the familiar smell of Canada that always calmed his nerves. Slowly, the tension in his muscles fell away, and he melted into his embrace.

Canada gave him a tight squeeze. “S’okay, ‘Merica. I’ve got you.”

“Thank you,” He murmured.

“Of course. I’m surprised that happened. You haven’t had that one since we were kids,” Canada remarked, rubbing small circles on America’s back to soothe him. Touch was always one of the best ways to make him calm down. Softly, he began to hum a lullaby that their mother had sung to them when they had nightmares. It was an old one, with a melody that stuck with him throughout the years. He couldn’t remember the words, but the tune was still there.

America released a shaky breath, feeling his fear fall away. With the warmth of Canada’s hug, the gentle music lulling him back to sleep, and the smells of the longhouse, he could almost convince himself that he was a child again, safe with his family.

Across the longhouse, England stared at the ceiling, unable to sleep. He heard the strangled noise that America had made and he knew exactly who it was, but he stayed put. As much as he wanted to rush over and comfort him, it wasn’t his place anymore. Canada would handle it.

Despite listening close, he couldn’t hear anything else. He could only assume that Canada took care of him or America dealt with the issue on his own. Still, he was deeply uneasy. His instincts begged him to run to America and kiss his fears away.

He didn’t.

*************

Evening crept up on the woods while the wedding guests waited on the benches. They were arranged in rows with a singular bench at the front under the leafy canopy of the forest. Crickets were beginning to play their song as the last snippets of daylight slipped away. Fire remained to light their way, casting shadows around the clearing.

Just when America was beginning to get fidgety, the wedding party arrived.

Kaiya was a dream wrapped in white. Her dress was covered with fringes and brown beads that swayed when she walked. An insignia was on her waistband, and the skirt flowed around her in its own dance. But most beautiful of all were her sparkling eyes, which were full of genuine joy that could make anyone else smile.

Halona had a dress similar to Kaiya’s, but hers had more fringes on the sleeves and hazel beads. Her hair had a complicated system of braids that almost made a veil and a white feather woven in. The expression on her face when she saw Kaiya could only be described as awestruck.

Tentatively, she reached out and took Kaiya’s hands. “You look so beautiful.”

Kaiya beamed. “I was just about to say the same about you.”

They sat down on the bench at the front. Per tradition, the mothers of people getting married sat beside their child, so Kaiya’s mother was next to her, gazing at her with inconcealable pride. Aliquippa, Halona’s only older sibling, had filled the role of their mother, to Halona’s delight.

An older man stood before them, dressed in robes with intricate designs that wound their way around the rough fabric. He cleared his throat and looked at Kaiya’s mother. “What is your daughter’s name?”

“Kaiya,” She answered, ready for the traditional questions always asked at Oneida weddings.

“Do you think that your daughter is capable of fulfilling the responsibilities of marriage?”

“Yes.”

“Are you satisfied with your daughter’s choice?”

“Yes.”

“If hard times come, and your daughter and her wife become homeless, would you open your home to them?”

“Yes.”

He nodded and turned to Aliquippa. “What is your sister’s name?”

“Halona.”

The elder proceeded with the same questions, slightly altered to suit the differences in their situations. When he finished with her, he looked at Kaiya. “Are you prepared to be the wife of the woman you have chosen for the rest of your life?”

“Completely.”

“Will you prepare food for your wife?”

“Yes.”

“Will you care for your wife if she becomes ill?”

“Yes.”

“Marriage is a partnership, and no one has the authority over the other; you do not dominate your wife, nor does she dominate you.” He turned to Halona. “Are you prepared to be the wife of the woman you have chosen for the rest of your life?”

Halona gazed at Kaiya with a smile she couldn’t fight. “Yes.”

“Will you prepare food for your wife?”

“As best as I can.” Her response got a laugh out of Kaiya and the attendees, aside from the three that didn’t have a clue what was being said thanks to the language barrier.

“Will you care for your wife if she becomes ill?”

“Absolutely.”

“Marriage is a partnership, and no one has the authority over the other; you do not dominate your wife, nor does she dominate you. You are now married.”

It wasn’t a part of Oneida tradition, but Halona pulled Kaiya into a kiss while their guests cheered. Many of their younger siblings ran up to congratulate them, and soon the two were swamped with wedding gifts ranging from pottery to preserved meats to elaborate bead necklaces.

To celebrate the new union, there was a massive feast with all kinds of food. America was elated to get his hands on it, but he was even happier when he got the chance to talk to his friends.

“You two look beautiful!” He exclaimed. “I’m so happy for you.”

“Thank you,” said Kaiya.

Canada pointed to their heads. “Your hair changed.”

“Wearing a single braid is a symbol of marriage, so we redid our hair after the ceremony,” Halona explained.

“I, for one, loved it,” England said, approaching the group. “Congratulations. Do you have rings?” 

Kaiya nodded and pulled a necklace out from under her collar. It had a simple cord with a band made from a thimble on the end per American colonial culture. “We wanted to use our traditions but also some of the ones from Massachusetts. We’re from both worlds, after all, so why not embrace the best of each?”

Halona grabbed hers, too, and produced a similar band. “I proposed to Kaiya like those in Boston do, so at first, she was the only one with a band, but she insisted that I needed one, too, so we got a second.”

“You deserve a ring,” Kaiya stated plainly.

She blushed, uncharacteristically flustered. “Thanks, Kaiya. So, Alfred, how’s Philadelphia?”

England frowned. “You’ve been in Philadelphia?”

“Good,” America answered, ignoring England’s question. “It’s really nice to see some of the people that live there. How about Boston?”

“Crowded. It’s crawling with soldiers that don’t understand the concept of personal space, but it is what it is.”

“How’s River?”

Kaiya gasped in excitement. She always got a giant smile every time she got the opportunity to talk about their dog. “Oh, he’s great! He’s gotten so much bigger!”

“Yeah. She feeds him too many table scraps.”

“I meant that he’s grown-up. He’s not fat.”

“He’s bordering on fat.”

Kaiya crossed her arms defensively. “He’s squishy.”

“And Pilgrim?” America asked, changing the subject. “Thank you so much for taking care of her, by the way. I was really worried when I couldn’t get back into the city.”

“Anytime. She’s well. She jumps up on the desk of the shop a lot to knock off my quills, but we still love her.”

America laughed. “That sounds like her.”

The chit chat slowed as the night wore on until they retired.

Halona rolled into bed, snuggling under the blankets and letting the stress and excitement of the day fall away. “You’re my wife.”

“Yes, I am.” Kaiya slipped into her tunic for sleeping and undid her hair, letting it cascade down her shoulders.

The term was still foreign in Halona’s mouth. She had a wife. She was married. She was a wife. It wasn’t strange in a bad way, though, more like she couldn’t believe it. Kaiya was her wife. Kaiya had accepted her proposal and actually married her. Beautiful, kind, amazing Kaiya was _her_ wife.

Kaiya climbed into bed beside Halona, happily falling into her arms. “I love you so much.”

“I love you, too. You know, this was one of the best days of my life.”

“Mine, too.”

“I wish my mother was there to see it,” Halona admitted with a whisper.

Kaiya kissed her forehead softly. “She was.”

*************

England struggled to get the chance to catch Canada, but on the morning that they were all going their separate ways, England got him alone.

“I have to talk to you.”

Canada rolled his eyes. “He’s not going to take you back. Now, if you’ll excuse me-”

“It’s not about that,” England said with an edge of irritation in his voice. “I want to know if he has told you anything about the rebel’s plans and to let you know that you should be preparing for war.”

He frowned. “He’s my brother.”

“He’s an enemy of our empire now.”

“Your empire.”

“You’re still part of it, aren’t you?” England asked sarcastically, “Or are you going to try to start your own country, too?”

He shook his head. “I can’t fight him. I’m imploring you not to try to make me because I just can’t- and won’t- do that.”

“You’ve fought him before,” England pointed out.

“And it was hell. I won’t hurt him for you or anyone else I care about ever again. So if you want to shut down his revolution, you’ll have to do it on your own.”

With that, Canada marched off, ignoring England’s sputtering and getting the horse he borrowed for the journey. America had been instructed to bring Eyota with him when he saw Kaiya and Halona, but he claimed he forgot and was, instead, using a horse belonging to Silas Deane.

America tugged on the buckle of the saddle to make sure it was secure. “Hey, Mattie. Whoa, what’s got you all riled up?”

Canada hadn’t realized that his agitation was showing on his face and he quickly banished it. “Arthur wanted information about the movements of your troops.”

“What did you tell him?”

“Nothing, obviously. I don’t even know, so how could I reveal your secrets? Anyway, I also refused to take sides.”

He nodded. “Good. Keep up that narrative. Everything will turn out alright.”

“Have you mailed Papa?”

“Not yet. I want to wait until Congress has made some decisions. But I will. The new terms still apply, right?”

“Yes,” Canada confirmed. They’d decided that America would request France’s assistance in his revolution, promising that if they rescued him and they won, he could have Canada back (off the record, of course). Hopefully, it’d be enough motivation for France to join the war.

“Good.” America gave him a firm hug, not wanting to part ways. “I’m going to miss you.”

“I’ll miss you, too. But you’re going to go to Philadelphia and kick some English ass, right?” Canada said, trying to reassure him.

“You bet I am.”

“I believe in you. You can do this. If there’s one person in all of existence who can stand up to the British Empire and, against all odds, win, it’s you.”

His smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I sure hope so, Mattie. I sure hope so.”


	21. Escape From Boston

“I know not what course others will take, but as for me, give me liberty or give me death!” -Patrick Henry

It was England’s first full day back in Boston. Getting in and out of the city was a remarkable feat, so he was thrilled that General Thomas Gage had some ideas for turning the tables on the rebels that had boxed them in.

Reinforcements arrived, so with all the new manpower, Gage had high hopes about busting out. Said hopes were dashed when the patriots also got reinforcements and fortified their lines.

Gage groaned. “I wish you had stayed outside the city after that wedding you went to.”

“You’re the one that told me to come back ‘to summarize the goings-on of the rest of the colony.’ I warned you that I wouldn’t have learned anything, and you didn’t listen to me.”

“So you really don't know anything? Didn’t you talk to America?”

“Yes. All I know is that he’s been in Philadelphia for who-knows-why.”

The general’s eyes lit up. “He’s been in Philadelphia? That’s important! Something must be happening there- a government meeting, perhaps?”

“Well, I don’t see what good knowing about it does us. With all the new rebels surrounding us, getting out of the city again would be impossible.”

“Perhaps we could get word to a spy of ours.”

“What kind of spy do we have that could-” England stopped abruptly, an idea coming to him. “Nevermind, I know exactly what to do.”

*************

The heavy coin in Emma Jenkins’ pocket was a constant, reassuring weight while she walked. There was nothing she wanted more than to run back home to her mother, brother, and little sister, but she had to do this- for her father, and not only for him but for Arthur. With this mission completed, maybe she could finally catch his eye.

“Freeze!” Someone called.

She stopped dead in her tracks, lifting her hands in surrender while a red-haired man with a rifle went up to her. “I need to leave the city.”

He cackled. “Yeah, you and everyone else.”

Time for the risky part. “I’m Emma Jenkins.”

“Is that supposed to mean something to me?”

“If you know Alfred F. Jones, it does. He’s my friend, and he can vouch for me. I’m not a Tory. I know he’s in Philadelphia, but surely he told someone in command that I should be granted passage.”

The man squinted. “So what if he did?”

“So I deserve passage. If you need to, take me to someone higher ranking. I’m sure they’d be happy to let me through.”

He lowered his gun but still eyed her suspiciously. “Fine. Let’s go see General Ward, and we’ll see what he has to say.”

Emma was roughly guided by the arm through the messy camp. Trenches were everywhere, as were debris and random things like crates. Once, she nearly tripped over a random ladder lying in the middle of a walkway that didn’t appear to have any purpose.

“General Ward!” The man called.

A man who wore no marks proclaiming his status turned around at his name. “What’s this?”

“She’s trying to leave the city. Says that Alfred Jones told you to let her through.”

The general looked her up and down. “Who are you?”

“Emma Jenkins, sir.”

“Jenkins?”

“Yes, sir.”

He hummed. “That name does ring a bell. Yes, I believe he did say she could go through. Search her first, though. Be sure she’s not carrying any letters.”

“Wait! My father is here. He’s one of your soldiers. I was hoping I could see him before I left. If you’d allow it.”

Artemas shrugged. “Why the hell not? Jim, you’ll deal with it?”

“Yes, sir,” the soldier answered.

“Alright. Dismissed.”

The soldier grabbed her arm again and dragged her through the trenches. “What’s your father’s name?”

“Robert Jenkins. He’s got blond hair like me and brown eyes.”

“If he’s from Boston, then he’ll be this way,” the soldier declared.

Emma did her best to look for important details to tell Arthur when she got back to Boston, but she didn’t see anything that would be relevant. All she saw were rowdy soldiers that were slowly going bored out of their minds.

“Keep your eyes peeled. Your father’s probably around here somewhere.”

She nodded and scanned the faces. Each looked the same: scruffy, unshaven, and exhausted. But finally, sitting on a crate, tying his boots, she saw him.

“Papa!” She exclaimed, running over and throwing her arms around him.

His eyes went wide, and it took a moment before he hugged her back. “Emma? What are you doing here? How did you get in?”

“I’m on my way to Philadelphia,” She explained. “General Ward said that I could see you before I’m escorted to the other side of the lines.”

“But how are you being allowed through?”

“Alfred Jones told the general who should be let through, and I’m on that list.”

“How did you know that? He hasn’t been inside the city.”

“Lucky guess.”

He shook his head. “Emma, don’t you know how dangerous this was! My god, you could have been killed!”

“I wasn’t, though,” She said, trying to reassure him. “How are you doing?”

“I’m fine. Why are you going to Philadelphia? No, forget that. How are your siblings and mother?”

“It’s been a lot of work trying to run the bakery without you. Mama’s stressed, and Jordan is sick- everything is a mess ever since you left.”

Robert sighed guiltily. “I’m sorry, honey. You don’t deserve that.”

“So you’ll come home?”

“No, I’m going to stay here. I believe in this cause, Emma, and I want to fight for it. It’ll be a strain for our family, but it’s the right thing to do.”

The soldier interrupted by grabbing Emma’s elbow. “This reunion is beautiful and all, but I’ve got shit to do. Let’s get a move on.”

“I love you,” Robert said quickly, kissing her forehead.

“I love you, too.”

She stumbled as the soldier tugged her away. After a brief search that she passed, she was released on the other side to walk to Roxbury. Using a predetermined drop site, Arthur had left her plenty of money to hire a carriage driver to take her to Philadelphia. It was harder than she expected to locate a carriage driver for hire, but she found one with some persistent searching and asking around at local shops.

Emma handed over some coins. “Philadelphia, please.”

He raised a brow. “Philadelphia? That’s a hell of a drive. Four days probably.”

She gave him a few more. “Please?”

“Alright. Pennsylvania it is.”

*************

England was having a wonderful day. The weather was nice, he hadn’t had any issues with General Gage so far, and America leaving him hadn’t crossed his mind once. Everything was perfect as he strolled along the street, observing all the shops and wondering if he should stop in and treat himself.

Naturally, it was ruined.

He heard the commotion before he saw it, and as he rounded a corner, he glimpsed a girl sprinting past as fast as she could with a squad of six soldiers hot on her tail. Usually, it wouldn’t worry him. People in those situations were probably just poor bread thieves. But, unfortunately, he knew the girl that was on the run, and he also knew that she was headed in the direction of yet another squad that patrolled nearer to the harbor.

A deep sigh went through him as he realized that this would have to be his problem. Why did Halona have to be so reckless?

England threw aside his bag of groceries and ran after them, calling for the soldiers to stop. They didn’t seem to hear him. He followed them through the streets as fast as he could. Far ahead, he could see her dark hair flying out behind her as she fled. He needed to act quickly. Even if he could get whatever charges she had against her dismissed, she would probably get hurt if the squad caught her.

Startled Bostonians jumped out of the way to let them pass, and animals scattered, protesting with loud squawks, meows, and barks. England barely missed slamming into a child in his haste. 

Ahead, Halona ran faster. She could feel her pulse in her throat and her legs burned. Usually, she loved the ache of exercise, but these specific circumstances weren’t ideal.

For a moment, she thought she heard her name being called, but she ignored it. Escape was more important.

She whizzed around a corner and skidded to a stop. A second group of armed soldiers was at the other end of the street. There weren’t any alleys that weren’t dead ends in this part of town, meaning she was surrounded.

Surrounded, but not trapped.

Halona scurried over to a parked wagon beside a shop with a slanted roof and jumped up on top. She grabbed onto a ledge above a window and hoisted herself up, barely clamoring onto the roof without falling. Perfect. She was, after all, the best tree runner in her tribe. Housetops should be a piece of cake.

Below, England watched in shock as Halona climbed onto a short building and began dashing across the rooves. She dodged chimneys, slid over angled surfaces, and leaped over narrow alleys, just barely making the jump each time.

He wasn’t sure what to even do, and it appeared that his soldiers didn’t, either, until one of them aimed at her running figure.

“No!” England said, tackling him to the ground. The gun fired, shattering a window and scaring a woman nearby half to death, but no one was hurt.

The soldier looked baffled. “Lieutenant-General?”

“She’s on the protected list,” England stated. “You can’t hurt her.”

“She slapped one of my comrades!”

England shrugged and got up, dusting off his pristine red coat. “If I had to take a guess, I’d say that he probably deserved it.”

“She’s a bloody criminal!”

“And to shoot her would make you one, too,” England reminded him sharply.

A vein in his forehead bulged as he got to his feet. “She assaulted a member of the royal-”

“That’s enough,” England ordered. “It’d do you good to remember your place, soldier. Now you have two options: you can go back to your post, or you can follow me back to headquarters so you can tell the general why you disobeyed my direct orders. Take your pick.”

The soldier scowled and picked up his gun. “Yes, sir.”

England looked at the other soldiers in his squad. “See that he follows through, gentlemen. Good day.”

With that, England briskly went back down the street in search of the abandoned groceries.

*************

Halona burst through the door of the bookshop, heaving for breath. “Kaiya!”

Her wife whipped around, alarmed. “Halona? Are you okay? What happened?”

“We need to leave immediately.”

She blinked in confusion. “What?”

“Start packing! Get as much as you can in a bag!”

Kaiya moved into action without any more questions, hurrying back upstairs and throwing open the chest in their bedroom, scooping clothes and other items into the first bag she found. She stuffed them in as best as she could, grabbing some of Halona’s things, too.

Halona came into the room a moment later, dropping to her knees beside her to shovel their belongings into a trunk. “Don’t forget your copy of The Iliad.”

“It’s already in there. Do we need food and provisions?”

“That’d be ideal.”

She ran to the kitchen to load her bag, trusting that Halona knew what she was doing. She’d give her clarification later- for now, she just needed to have faith and pack.

Her wife barreled in, slamming the bedroom door behind her. “Get the fire striker.”

“Are we taking the animals?”

“River and Angeni.”

“What about Pilgrim?”

Halona cursed under her breath. “Take her to the Jenkinses. Don’t let on that anything is wrong and hurry back. I’ll get Angeni ready; meet me at the stables.”

She nodded, dropping the bag and searching the house. “Pilgrim? Here, kitty, kitty, kitty! Come here, girl.”

A soft mewl came from downstairs. Kaiya followed the sound and scooped the calico up, stroking her fur to calm her down and trying to steady herself as she left for the Jenkinses. A squad of soldiers was up the street, on high alert. Not knowing the details of Halona’s crisis but knowing her well enough to expect trouble from guards, she took an alley for a different route to the bakery.

The wooden sign painted with a loaf of bread couldn’t have come soon enough. Kaiya went in, smiling at Amelia Jenkins. “Hello, Mrs. Jenkins.”

“Kaiya. Oh, hello, Pilgrim.”

“I’m so sorry, I know you just watched her, but I have to ask you to do so again.”

“Anything for you or Alfred. Are you going on vacation?”

Kaiya nodded. “We’re headed to Philadelphia to see Alfred, actually.”

“And you don’t need us to take care of River?”

“No, he’s coming with, but Pilgrim can’t follow the horse.”

“Well, I’d be happy to look after her. I do have a question for you, though. I don’t mean to worry you, but Emma left yesterday. She said she was visiting a friend, but she didn’t come home last night. I assumed that she stayed out past curfew and had to spend the night with her friend, but she should have returned this morning. Have you seen her?”

She shook her head, setting Pilgrim down. “I’m sorry, I haven’t. I’m sure she’s alright. You know, she’s sixteen. Maybe she’s not with a friend.”

Amelia laughed, but there wasn’t much joy behind it. “Maybe. Still, it’s not like her. She knows I need her here.”

“I’m sure she’ll turn up. I wish I could stay and chat, but Halona’s waiting on me.”

“Wait, how are you going to Philadelphia? Isn’t the neck sealed off by the patriots?” Amelia asked, suddenly confused.

“Alfred told the general that we could have passage through.”

“I see. Well, enjoy your trip.”

“Thank you,” said Kaiya graciously. She flashed a smile and headed out of the bakery, winding through the town again to avoid any squads of soldiers she may encounter until she got to the stables. On the way, she had to pass Coleman’s Books, Halona’s shop that sat below their house. Halona had considered changing the name since Coleman was her uncle’s last name but never got around to it. Kaiya supposed it didn’t matter anymore.

In the stables, Halona was pacing anxiously, waiting on her wife. The moment Kaiya was back, she said, “Come on, we have to go.”

Kaiya swung up onto Angeni and gave Halona the chance to get on, too, before gently flicking the reins and urging her obedient horse forward. River trotted along at their side until they got to the outskirts of the city where they were stopped.

“Hold!” Shouted a soldier.

She pulled the reins back and stopped to let the American soldier approach with his rifle at the ready. “My name is Kaiya. This is Halona. We have been granted passage by Alfred F. Jones.”

The soldier rolled his eyes. “God, more of ‘em? Come on.”

While he led them into the camp, Halona looked oddly at Kaiya. “More of them? Who else went through?”

A shrug was all she got in response before they were presented to General Ward, who quickly allowed them to go after their bags were searched (painstakingly) by the soldier that brought them in.

After their hold up, Kaiya urged Angeni to go faster as they left Boston. “Okay, now you need to tell me what’s going on.”

Halona winced and rested her chin on Kaiya’s shoulder, grinning sheepishly. “I may have assaulted an officer.”

Kaiya’s head turned so fast that Halona was surprised she didn’t get whiplash. “What?”

“I know. It was stupid. But there was this kid that he shoved aside, so I told him off for it, and he said some things I won’t repeat. Then I slapped him. And then I ran back home. Partially on the roofs.”

“Roofs?”

“Yeah, and then one of them tried to shoot me, but he missed and hit a window. I think. I was still running, so it was hard to tell. Anyway, I’d rather not be hung for that, so I got you and decided that we should probably get out of the city.”

“I’d like to be frustrated or lecture you about being rash, but I can’t fault you for protecting a child. So, where are we going?”

“Philadelphia, maybe? America is there. He could help us figure out what to do next. Or we could go home. Or, I guess, we could try somewhere new.”

She hummed. “Like where?”

“Charleston?”

“I don’t want to go south.”

“That’s probably wise. New York? Salem? Plymouth?”

Kaiya shook her head. “No, we should probably just go home and lie low for a while. Once things have settled some more, we can try the city.”

“Whatever you say.”

*************

“Quiet, please!” John Hancock said to the congregation, running his hands through his hair. “Could everyone _please_ be quiet? We have announcements to make.”

Gradually, the Second Continental Congress fell silent for his announcements. A skirmish broke out in Boston, martial law was declared in Canada, General Thomas Gage offered a pardon to any patriots who laid down their arms (except Samuel Adams and Hancock, whom he deemed too good at rousing revolution to let go) and other such news.

America squirmed in his seat uncomfortably. It was stiflingly hot inside the statehouse. He hated the oppressively stale air that had filled the room. It was too stuffy, and even when he loosened his cravat, it did little to help aside from allowing some relief to his sweaty neck.

John Adams was fanning himself with a paper, face flushed and coated in a thin sheen of perspiration. On America’s other side, John’s cousin kept a straight face, but with the coat he was wearing, he was surely sweltering.

A young boy with dark skin that belonged to one of the South Carolina delegates was providing refreshments for them, leaving with a bucket and returning to ladle cold water into their cups. Samuel Adams and Thomas Paine had declared that they wouldn’t accept any water from an enslaved person in protest of slavery. An admirable stance, of course, but after much inner turmoil, America decided that to refuse water from the boy wasn’t going to make him any freer, so he reluctantly took the water, which made his fuzzy head a little clearer.

As he quietly thanked the boy, Samuel gave him an irritated glance. America frowned. It was a glass of water- it wasn’t like he owned any slaves. Well, technically, he supposed that he did, since he embodied all of British America and some of his people did, but he, specifically, didn’t.

Slavery wasn’t the issue up for debate today, though. America was sure that would ravage the congress eventually, but for now, he needed his southern politicians’ support if they were ever going to get independence. After, he’d tackle slavery.

Today’s task was to vote on whether or not to erect an official army- a topic that had been debated for weeks. Before his long weekend with the Oneida tribe for Kaiya and Halona’s wedding, he’d given a speech proclaiming that he wanted to do so. More people had been swayed to the ‘for’ side after that, but the delegates against it had dug in as hard as the patriots laying siege to Boston. What did that mean? Hours upon hours of debates.

At the head of the congregation, Hancock procured a white handkerchief from his pocket and wiped it across his forehead. Peyton Randolph’s work summoned him back to Virginia two weeks into the meetings, and Hancock was elected to replace him. Poor Hancock was quickly finding that Peyton’s job was a lot harder than it looked. “Alright, men. Are we ready to conduct the vote?”

John De Hart, a delegate from New Jersey, stood up. “I’d like to talk about reconciliation with Parliament again.”

A New Yorker called, “You’ve talked enough, Mr. Hart! It’s time for voting!”

Cheers of support erupted from the northern colonies. The middle and southern ones weren’t as enthused. Someone in the Georgia section shouted, “This is New England’s war. If she wants to fight, she will fight alone!”

Inner turmoil in Georgia’s area broke out as delegates continued to argue. Poor Hancock looked nothing short exhausted as he banged his gavel. “Gentlemen, please. We’re taking the vote. All in favor of assembling an official Continental army, raise your hands.”

Thomas Paine was the first to have his hand up as if that would sway the vote in his favor. America raised his hand respectfully, cringing as he realized how bad he probably smelled because of the heat. Awkwardly, he tried to bring his arm in closer and keep his armpit away from John Adams’ face.

Hancock tallied up the votes, murmuring numbers under his breath. “Alright, thank you. All those opposed to the potential formation?”

It wasn’t hard to tell which side won. America felt a swell of excitement as Hancock thanked the naysayers for their contribution. “Yae wins.”

The look on Hancock’s face was utterly defeated as the room erupted. America was pretty sure he saw someone from South Carolina shove a Rhode Island representative to the floor, and he knew for a fact that Thomas Paine was howling with joy, which was an odd sight.

Samuel Adams beamed and clapped him on the back. “We did it! You’ve got yourself an army, America!”

Hancock rapped the sound block to shut everyone up. “Now that that’s settled, we need to select a Commander-in-Chief, someone who will be the leader of the Continental Army. Those of you that have someone to nominate, raise your hands, and I will call you one by one to allow you to present. There will be NO screaming when names are announced, understood? Good. Alright, who has nominees?” Almost every hand in the room went up. Hancock sighed deeply. “We’ll go in alphabetical order by colony. Connecticut’s Roger Sherman, the body recognizes you.”

Sherman, a man with a head shaped like a rectangle, took the floor and immediately started his rant.

John scoffed. “Sherman. I hate that guy.”

“Trust me, we know,” America whispered. “You take jabs at him all the time.”

“Does he not deserve it?”

America shrugged. “He’s rude to Silas, so-”

“So he’s a monster.”

He snickered. “Yeah, that’s fair. I just wish he didn’t talk so much. He’s not a good public speaker, which would be fine if he didn’t insist on presenting all the time.”

In the end, there were tons of nominees, but only two had decent chances of being appointed: John Hancock and George Washington. The debates were spirited and lengthy, each side making good points.

When sunset arrived, Hancock announced that the vote would be taken tomorrow, and they were dismissed.

“Thank god,” America groaned, sluggishly packing away his things. “It’s so hot in here.”

Samuel laughed. “It’s June. What did you expect?”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll see you guys tomorrow.”

“Till morrow, then!” Samuel waved.

America went outside as soon as possible. Silas was standing by the door and accompanied him out.

“You could have gotten some fresh air, Si,” America chuckled.

“I didn’t want you to think I left already.”

They met up with Dr. Franklin before departing and meandered down an empty street. Outside, it wasn’t too much cooler than the State House, to America’s dismay.

“I think I almost died during the meetings today,” America remarked.

The doctor nodded. “Yes. I believe I will take an air bath when I get home. After getting some water, of course.”

Silas kicked a pebbled and looked at their host, “Who do you think should be the commander, Dr. Franklin?”

He smiled. “Washington. He’s the best man for the job. Hancock is wonderful, but his skills are best in rousing crowds, penning political articles, and debating. Washington has more experience and will be up to the task.”

“You’re so wise,” America said, shaking his head. “It’s amazing.”

The doctor laughed. “You flatter me, America. Who do you want? It is your country, after all.”

“I like them both, but I agree that Washington is more up to the challenge. I saw him once during the war, and I was baffled at his skill. He’s one of the smartest men I know, and I think he’d make a fantastic commander. Silas, how about you?”

Silas shrugged. “I’m not sure. They both have qualities you’d want in a commander. I’ll sleep on it and hopefully I’ll have an answer tomorrow.”

The trio arrived on Franklin’s doorstep. He unlocked the door, saying, “Taking extra time to analyze all the contestants is also beneficial, Silas.”

“Thank you. You know, I voted in favor of creating the army, and don’t get me wrong, I support the patriot cause, but I’m worried about potential war. England will bristle when they- or, I guess, he- realizes that we’ve taken these steps. Whether it’s just for insurance or not, I don’t think it will go well. I’m worried about the loss of life, too. For one person to die is too many. But how many will we lose? Hundreds? Thousands?”

America sighed as he took off his shoes. “I know what you mean. To lose so many of my people will be difficult.”

“That reminds me: I had a question for you,” Franklin said as he poured some glasses of water for them. “What happens to you if a lot of Americans die?”

“It’ll take a toll on my health. I’ll feel weaker, get injuries out of nowhere, and may get sick, too.”

“What if something bad happened to the country itself? For example, if a city were burned, what would happen to you?” Franklin asked, handing him one of the glasses.

He laughed, but there was no humor behind it. “Good question. For little cities, it wouldn’t do much unless a bunch of them were burned. If a major city caught on fire, I’d run a fever and be very weak until it was put out. Depending on the severity of the fire, I may get burnt, but I’d end up okay unless it were my capital. A personification’s heart and capital are connected, so it’s possible that I could die. Others have lived through that, though. When London burned in 1666, England survived. It was horrible, though.”

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” Silas said with a gentle touch on America’s arm.

“It’s okay; I can. We were in London when it happened, and at first, I had no idea what was happening. Out of nowhere, he just screamed and collapsed. I had to get us out when he was unconscious. For the first phase, he was asleep a lot and could barely speak, so it wasn’t until later that he sort of explained what was happening. All he really said was that it was happening because London was his capital. Anyway, he got burns on his chest, and he spent most of it in bed, curled up. It lasted for four days. In the beginning, he did a lot of resting and crying, but eventually, he just lay there. I stayed with him during it, getting cold water to dampen washcloths for his forehead sometimes and trying my best to reassure him, but I was terrified, completely convinced I was going to lose him. He made it, though, thank god.”

Silas gazed at him sympathetically. “That sounds hard, America. I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

“Me? I’m fine. It’s England that still has scars on his chest from it.”

The doctor patted his back. “Well, that’s in the past. You should probably get some rest. Silas, why don’t you take him upstairs?”

Silas nodded, grabbed a candle, and beckoned for America to follow him. He led the way to their bedroom and set it on the nightstand while he got his nightclothes out. “You okay?”

“Yeah, it’s not that big of a deal. It was a long time ago.”

“Not for a personification.” He turned his back so America could begin changing while he, too, switched outfits. “1666… That was, what, 109 years ago? And you were born at the start of the 15th century.”

“Yeah. Are you done changing?”

“Yes, are you?”

“Yes,” He responded and wiggled under his covers.

Across the room, Silas got under his and blew out the candle. So much time passed that America figured he was asleep, but quietly, Silas asked, “He wasn’t just your friend, was he?”

America stiffened. “Why do you say that?”

“You had this look in your eyes when you were telling the story. You’re in love with him, aren’t you?”

It was Silas, just Silas. He wouldn’t leave if America told him the truth. Probably. Maybe. His gut said that Silas would stay, but what if his gut was wrong? Could he risk losing him?

“You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to,” Silas said. “I’m sure it’s difficult. But know that if you did have romantic relationships with men, it wouldn’t bother me. Love should be given to those who deserve it, not those that are of society’s expected sex. Anyway, we can talk about it when you’re ready.”

His heart lurched. That was the best response he could have hoped for. “Thank you. And yes, England and I were lovers.”

Silas hummed. “What happened?”

“I don’t know, actually,” America admitted. “Things were good. Slowly, they descended into darkness. I think it was probably the war with France that started it. France and I are friends and Canada is my brother. To ask me to fight them was cruel. But I did it because I loved him and I knew that if I ever saw my brother, I’d spare him. After, with the debt and all, he encroached on my government. You know all about that, so I’ll leave it out, but one the third of June last year, I made him leave my home.”

“It sounds like it wouldn’t have worked anyway. Relationships between people that don’t see each other as equals are bound to dismantle. Maybe after the war, when you are also a nation, things can be patched over.”

“Maybe.”

“If you ever need to unload your worries, I’m here for you,” Silas reminded him. “I may not be able to empathize with your exact situation the way a personification or someone attracted to men could, but I’m determined to do my best.”

America smiled into the dark, even though he knew Silas couldn’t see him. “Thank you, Si.”

“Anytime. Goodnight, America.”

“Goodnight.”


	22. General Washington

“Don’t fire until you see the whites of their eyes!” -William Prescott, The Battle of Bunker Hill, June 17, 1775

Summer slid by in a haze. George Washington was voted to be the Commander in Chief on the 15th of June, and by the next day, there were already issues to face. The Committee of Safety learned that General Thomas Gage had plans to break out of Boston. Reinforcements went to Boston immediately and a battle ensued the day after on Breed’s Hill. The British were able to push the Americans off Breed’s Hill, so they gained some land, but they were still very much boxed in. General Joseph Warren, a prominent patriot from Boston, died in the skirmish. Samuel Adams and John Hancock were both friends of his and were deeply distressed during the congress’s ongoings.

Now-general Washington left Philadelphia for Cambridge, Massachusetts, and took charge of his forces. There were still those that wanted peace, though. As a very last resort, Congress created the Olive Branch Petition and sent it to King George III to give him one last chance to avoid war. At the same time, a document entitled the Declaration On The Causes And Necessity Of Taking Up Arms, which was a long-winded way of saying that it was a paper trying to get more people to join the war effort on the Continental Army’s side was also published. Contradictory, indeed.

Still, they tried to avoid incriminating the king, opting to focus on the wrongdoings of Parliament instead. It was much easier for people to get behind a cause that fought Parliament than the king. Not only that, but the hope was that if the king understood what his legislation had done, he would fix it, and things could go back to normal.

This all made Congress was an important place to be, but America wanted to be with his people, fighting for the good of the colonies and other such righteous justification for revolution. When he told Congress that he was going to go to Boston to work with General Washington, there was pretty much a second revolution inside the statehouse.

Some demanded that he stay because of his role as a personification, while others supported his decision to work with the Commander-In-Chief. Thomas Jefferson proposed a vote, but America let Congress know that it wasn’t a decision they were making for him- he was going whether they liked it or not.

Silas was wonderful support, as always, even though he was disappointed that America was leaving. Not only that, but he made extra steps to make sure America felt secure in their friendship despite his confession about England.

America was also pretty sure Benjamin Franklin had figured out that he had a relationship with England from how he talked about him with America around, but he didn’t mind. Franklin was also notorious for his illicit nocturnal activities with a wide variety of people, so it wasn’t like he would judge him.

Upon the date of July 23, America arrived in Boston, eager to properly meet the new Commander-In-Chief. He’d been christened with the title of ‘Advisor to the Commander-In-Chief’, which wasn’t really a thing beforehand. They made it up specifically for him. America had authority similar to Washington’s and the ability to access the most secret of information. He could give orders, too, but otherwise, he was an odd mixture of a soldier and a superintendent. Mostly, his job would be figured out as he went.

The sun was strong when he hiked through the colonists’ camp to get to the general’s headquarters, a house taken from a loyalist after Lexington and Concord. Soldiers were scattered about, laughing, playing card games for tobacco, and talking. It was heartening to see them in such good spirits.

Washington’s headquarters didn’t have any guards stationed by it, nor did it seem like defensive measures were taken to prevent an unsuspected assassination.

America paused outside the door, which was ajar just a crack. Should he even go in? Should he call out first? Was that weird? Or was coming in unannounced weirder?

“Come in,” Said a voice inside.

Embarrassing. Oh well.

America pushed the door open the rest of the way and entered the well-furnished parlor, standing awkwardly by the door. A little writing desk occupied the back right corner with a chair pushed in underneath, but the thing that immediately drew the eye was a large table in the center of the room. On it lay maps, papers, quills, inkwells, letters, envelopes, and other such things strewn across its surface.

At the end of the table, facing the door, sat General George Washington. He stood, coming around the table and holding out his hand. “America. It’s nice to finally speak to you.”

“You too, General,” said America, shaking it. “I’m looking forward to working with you.”

He returned to his seat at the table and gestured to the chair on his right. “Please sit. How was your journey from Philadelphia?”

“Fine.”

“Would you like some water?” He asked and began pouring a glass for America before he could even answer. “It’s boiling out.”

“It is. Thank you. But we don’t have to make small talk. I know you have a lot of questions for me, and I want to get down to business as soon as we can.”

Washington chuckled. “Alright, but remember, you asked for it. If we’re to be working closely and if we’re going to win this war, we need complete honesty between us.”

“I agree.” America took a drink of his water.

“Good. How long were you in a romantic relationship with the personification of England?”

America choked on the water and put a hand over his mouth, forcing himself to swallow painfully. “I- I’m sorry, what?”

“I know your type when I see them. I’ve been in the army too long not to. There’s no need to be concerned; I harbor no ill will surrounding you or your preferences. But your connection to him is, I’m sure, critical to our situation.”

This made twice in the same month that he had been confronted about his sexuality. Was his love for England really that obvious?

“Uh, I’m not sure. Around a century and a half. Probably more. Years blur together when you’re immortal.”

He nodded and jotted something down. “And your current connection to him?”

“Strained.”

“How so?”

Here goes nothing. “We got into an argument. Well, a lot of them, actually, but the one that finally broke our relationship was last summer. I’ve only seen him once since then at a wedding between two of our mutual friends.”

“Your interactions then- how would you describe them?”

“Tense. Uncomfortable. Anxiety-inducing,” America said, laughing nervously. “What are you writing down?” He asked, trying to catch a glimpse of the words on the paper.

“Just notes. What can you tell me about France’s personification?”

America shrugged uncomfortably. “He’s a friend of mine. We get along very well. He has stayed in Boston with me for extended periods of time. Can- I mean, Quebec sees him as a father figure. He can be very blunt and flirty. Other than that, I don’t know to say.”

“That’s alright. Were you having sex with France as well?”

“What?”

“If so, with or without England? If without, to what extent did he know about the relationship?”

He shook his head fiercely. “No, no, we’ve never been anything more than friends. England is the only one I’ve ever had a romantic relationship with.”

“And so he is the only one you’ve engaged in sexual activity with?”

Abruptly, America saw Ellis’ face, his hands, and felt the same helplessness that had tormented him during the soldiers’ stay at his home. “N- No.”

“Who else-”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

Washington nodded, and his expression softened. “I’m sorry. I know you’re uncomfortable, but I need to understand your political, social, and romantic standings with various personifications to have a clear picture of our situation: our allies, enemies, that sort of thing.”

“It’s okay. The other person wasn’t a personification.”

“Alright. So that means you have never had anything more than platonic relationships with Quebec?”

“No, he’s my brother. He prefers to be called Canada.”

“So would you say you have a strong relationship with Canada?”

America nodded. This was a much easier conversation. “Yes, we’re very close. He’s the best brother I could ever ask for.”

“That’s nice. I have three brothers,” Washington commented, setting the paper aside, hoping America would feel more at ease. “And three half brothers. In total, I have nine siblings.”

“The only relative I have is Canada, but I’ve built family from those that aren’t connected to me by blood,” He said, smiling a little.

“Which is no less valid. Why don’t we hold off on business for now and just talk?”

“Despite wanting to jump right in at first, I’d like that,” He said, laughing anxiously again.

“So why did you leave Congress? Why would you give up a prestigious position in government for a loyalist’s house in Massachusetts and a job title that no one has ever heard of?”

He smiled. “Good question. I’ve always found it impossible to sit at a desk away from the action when I know that my people are fighting a war. It’s not fair to leave them, even if they have no idea who I am and I can’t make that big of a difference.”

“You’ll make a difference this time,” Washington assured him. “Next thing you know, you’re going to be a free country.”

“I sure hope so.”

*************

Amelia Jenkins flipped the sign on the bakery from ‘open’ to ‘closed.’ It was only noon, but she had business to attend to, meaning she had to leave Jordan (who was down with another cold) and Laura in the care of their next-door neighbor until she returned. After all, they were too young to run the shop while she was out, and Emma had been missing for precisely thirty-six days. That was the reason she was leaving. She’s practically torn Boston apart in search of her daughter and come up with nothing. Twice, she’d approached the patriot lines with her hands in the air, asking to speak with her husband to see if he knew anything, but the guards had turned her away. Resources exhausted, Amelia had very few hopes left. Her best bet was Arthur Kirkland.

Surely she could convince him. Arthur was a family friend, and he was in a position of great power. If anyone could find Emma, he could. That is, if he didn’t know about her family’s rebel allegiances.

She speed-walked through Boston until she came to the military’s headquarters. Swiftly, she headed to the door, but it was only seconds before three soldiers got in her way.

“And where do you think you’re going?” One asked.

“I need to see Lieutenant General Kirkland,” Amelia replied. “It’s important.”

He scoffed. “Hear that? It’s important.”

They laughed, and the second said, “You think we haven’t heard it before? You don’t have the authorization to come any closer.”

“Please, sirs, I understand you have duties, but my daughter has been missing for over a month, and-”

Guard one raised a brow. “That hardly sounds like a military issue.”

The third guard stepped in. “What’s your name, ma’am?”

“Amelia Jenkins. Just tell Arthur that I’m here; I’m sure he’ll let me in.”

He considered her for a moment, weighing his options before sighing. “I’ll go ask the Lieutenant-General if he’s willing to see her.”

“Seriously?” Guard One asked. “He’s going to get angry at you.”

“He’s always angry. It’s fine.” Guard Three went into the building, leaving Amelia with the other two soldiers.

“So, where’s your daughter?” Asked One.

“I don’t know.”

“Why isn’t your husband dealing with this?”

“He’s ill.”

“Sure he didn’t jump ship to go run off with the rebels?”

She frowned. “No, sir. He would never. He’s a faithful servant to the king and empire, as is the rest of my family. To even insinuate-”

“Alright, alright!” He said, laughing.

The third guard came back out of the building, looking sympathetic. “Sorry, ma’am. The Lieutenant-General said he didn’t want to see you.”

Amelia felt her face go red. “That’s unacceptable! My daughter is gone! I need to see him!”

“I’m very sorry, but what he says goes. We can’t let you in.”

“But he’s the only one who can help me!”

“As I said, I’m very sorry, but-”

“Let me see him! He’ll change his mind if he knows what this is about- I know he will!”

“I mentioned that your daughter was missing to him. He didn’t want to have a visitor. He’s having tea.”

“Tea? He’s abandoning my family for tea?” She raged, feeling her fists clench. “I want to see him right now!”

“Ma’am-”

Whatever the soldier was about to say, he didn’t finish it because Amelia stormed past them toward the house, stomping toward the door until they grabbed her to hold her back.

“Let me go! I have to see him!” She shouted, kicking up a fuss.

“Ma’am, if you do not calm down, there will be serious repercussions! Trespassing on restricted military areas is-”

“I don’t care!” She shrieked, “Let me speak to him!”

The door opened, and Arthur stepped out, military coat hastily pulled on. “What’s all this racket?”

Soldier Two grimaced. “Sorry, sir, she’s crazy!”

“Mr. Kirkland, I want to speak to you!” Amelia demanded, trying to wrench herself out of the soldiers’ grips.

He sighed, irritated. “Fine. Let her go. Come in, Mrs. Jenkins.”

Confused, they released her, and she straightened her sleeves out, shooting them glares. Then, she stomped through the door Arthur held open for her. He shut it and led her to his office, sitting down at his desk and returning to his tea.

“Arthur Kirkland, you bastard,” She began. “That soldier told you my daughter was missing, and you weren’t even going to see me?”

“I’m sure she’s fine, Mrs. Jenkins. There are soldiers everywhere, and the rebels are outside the city. Boston is safe.”

“Unless one of the soldiers had something to do with her disappearance. Arthur, I have searched everywhere and asked everyone. Emma is just gone. Thirty-six days ago, she said she was going to stay the night with a friend. Now, she’s up and vanished!

Arthur frowned. “That _is_ a long time. But she’s older now; perhaps she is staying with a lover or something. You know how young ladies are.”

“She doesn’t have a lover.”

“That you know of. Young people often refuse to tell their parents about those they’re courting.”

Amelia shook her head in frustration. “Please, Mr. Kirkland! I know my daughter, and this is not normal for her. She’s aware of how much I need her at the bakery; she wouldn’t do this!”

“What do you want me to do, exactly?”

“Tell your soldiers to keep an eye out for her! There are thousands of them here, surely one of them may see her! Head a search party- more people will listen to you if you ask them to look! Put up posters! I don’t know, just something, anything!”

He took a sip of his tea. “Mrs. Jenkins, I am fighting a war right now. Surely you can understand that Emma straying from her parents’ wishes is not high on my list of concerns.”

She stared. “I thought you were a friend to our family.”

“I am. But especially considering I know where your husband is, I’m not inclined to do you any favors.”

Amelia paled. “My husband is ill.”

“Your husband is a traitor that sided with the rebel army that’s trying to throw off his majesty’s god-given rule in thirteen of his colonies.”

“He’s been in bed, resting.”

“I won’t debate you on this, Mrs. Jenkins. We both know where Robert is. Besides, Emma is fine. She’s a smart girl, so I’m sure wherever she is, she’s safe. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have military matters to attend to.”

“Mr. Kirkland-”

“Good day, Mrs. Jenkins.”

She swallowed dryly and, irate, turned around to leave the building, no closer to finding Emma.

*************

England watched the battle from the safety of the island Boston rested on. Gunfire was constant, the air was filled with powder, and he couldn’t make out any specific people. His forces had decided to push again, and from what he could see, they made it to Roxbury.

General Gage had told him to stay in the city. He didn’t want to deal with the complications of England getting shot, even if he’d survive and heal fast. England didn’t object. He wasn’t fond of the battlefield, more so when he knew he was facing America’s people. No, not America’s. His. They were his people.

It’s not hard to give war instructions from far away in a safe place. Then, the casualties were just numbers. To be on the ground meant that he had to face what those numbers actually meant. Maybe it was a coward’s way of thinking, but he didn’t believe that fighting actively would be good for him. Eventually, perhaps, but not now.

He sighed and turned away from the skirmish, walking back to their headquarters. Oh, well. America was in Philadelphia last he heard, so at least he wasn’t involved in the battle right now. Immortal or not, England worried about him, and rapid healing didn’t mean a stab from a bayonet or a gunshot didn’t hurt.

There weren’t any civilians in the streets. They’d all ran to their homes and locked the doors, hoping to avoid potential danger from the Americans breaching the British line and cannon fire.

Kaiya and Halona would likely have had to do the same had they not fled Boston. Later in the day, after his soldiers’ pursuit of Halona, he’d gone to her bookshop to see her, but both the shop and house were empty. In fact, it looked like a storm had blown through, from hastily packing, he realized, once he saw that things were missing. He wished that they were still there so he could see them, but he was also glad that they were safe. The same could not be said for other Bostonians.

In addition, the contact that Emma Jenkins was supposed to find hadn’t sent back any information, either. Even England was beginning to worry. Perhaps she was occupied. Perhaps she didn’t have anything useful yet. Perhaps she’d been caught or murdered. It was all very uncertain.

He shoved open the door to the headquarters and let it slam behind him. Then he toppled onto a couch, letting out a sigh so hard that he felt his spine pop. If that didn’t summarize his life at the moment, he didn’t know what did.

Staring at the ceiling wasn’t very fun, but it’s what he ended up doing until General Gage entered the building. “How did it go?”

“Well. We pushed back an advanced guard and set some houses in Roxbury on fire,” He summarized, going to his desk to write a report on the battle. “It was very beneficial for morale. The troops are pleased that we made some headway.”

“Good. How many casualties?”

“Not sure yet, but the rebels certainly lost more than we did. There’s something you need to know, though.”

“What?”

“I spotted a person on the battlefield that looked exactly like the sketch of America you’d shown me. Coincidence, I suppose, but-”

England blanched. “I thought he was in Philadelphia!”

“It could just be someone that looked like him.”

“Did he have anything distinguishing status?”

Gage nodded. “And he seemed very strong. I didn’t see him for long, but I’d say with as much certainty that I can have without having met him in person that it was him. So how do you want to proceed?”

“As we have been, I suppose.”

“I was hoping you’d say that. We can’t back down just because he’s with Washington now. Remember, the sooner we win this war, the sooner you can get your life back to normal.”

“And the sooner I can convince America to come back to me.”

*************

England was enjoying a quiet moment at headquarters with a good book and a cup of tea: a rarity in these times when a soldier knocked on the door.

“Come in,” General Gage called.

A young man stepped inside, smiling nervously. “Hello, sirs.”

“How may we help you?” Gage asked.

England returned to his book, green eyes flicking across the page while the soldier fidgeted. “Well, you see, sir, there’s been an incident.”

“What kind of incident?”

“Um, there was this rebel soldier. He was attacked and killed by a group of our soldiers. Beaten to death, it seems.”

The general frowned. “Hmm. Not a very savory or noble form of battle, but they are our enemy, so what is the point in your visit?”

“They deeply upset the Americans, sir, by… I think it’d be best just to show you.”

Gage set down his quill. “Arthur, will you come with me?”

England shut his book. “Yes.”

“In that case, lead the way.”

The young soldier took them through Boston. Most of the citizens were inside or going inside. England saw a mother comforting a little boy that was crying, but other than that, it was uncannily quiet.

When they reached their destination, it was on the edge of town, close enough that any rebels using a spyglass could easily see them. A large pole was present. At the top was a dead patriot, swinging by a broken neck.

Shit. America was going to be furious.

*************

“They did WHAT?” America demanded.

The soldier reporting to him and Washington had the same hatred in his eyes that was coiling in America’s gut. “They beat him on the ground till he was dead. And now they have him hanging on a pole like some kind of sick, taunting joke!”

Washington sighed. “It’s a shame. He was a very talented rifleman. Don’t worry, he’ll get the justice he deserves.”

“Damn right he will. What’s your plan, sir?”

“He was your friend. What do _you_ want to do?”

His expression darkened. “I want them dead. May I go down and do as I please?”

“If you bring backup and you think clearly about what you intend to do before acting. Also, I’d like some kind of idea of what you’ve planned.”

The soldier laughed bitterly. “They pissed off sharpshooters, sir.”

“A poor mistake on their part. Alright, go ahead. Make sure you hit your marks.”

“We will.”

“Dismissed.”

He gave a salute and stalked out of the house. America watched him leave and shook his head in anger and disbelief. “This is disgusting. How dare they? How dare they beat a patriot to death and hang him! It’s repulsive, sir, it’s just repulsive!”

“I know, America.”

“I want to go help them.”

“I know that, too. But you are needed here. Let his comrades avenge him. I’m confident that they will have success. In the meantime, I need to talk to you about Canada.”

America sat down and tried his best to put his dangling citizen out of his mind. “What about him?”

“I want to assign some men to persuade his people to join our cause. We’ll promise them that if we win, their territory will remain unthreatened, at least by the United States. We would also promise an unwavering alliance, but I want your insight from a personification’s perspective. What do you think?”

“Canada wants freedom, too. Sort of. Truly, he just doesn’t like England. You already know about our meeting and plan, though. What he wants most to avoid war with me. He has outright refused to fight me, but the hearts of his people vary. More want to remain part of the British Empire than want to become independent.”

“So, do you think his government will agree?”

“There’s a chance.”

“How about Nova Scotia?”

America sighed. “No. She’s fading.”

Washington shook his head in confusion. “I’m sorry, fading?”

“Yes. It’s like a slow, sickly death to a personification, and it begins before their country or whatever they are collapses. You see, whatever force controls the lives of personifications seems to know a lot about time and the future. For example, my mother, who represented Native America, had Canada and me before the New World was even discovered. Also, our lands weren’t divided- they were one, which meant that the universe knew that we’d be split and that our colonies would be settled. But it works in reverse, too. When a territory merges with another, sometimes one or both of the personifications fade, in which case a new one would be in existence somewhere. That’s probably what happened to my mother: she faded as I grew stronger.”

“That doesn’t make any sense. And have thirteen different colonies here. Why don’t we have thirteen personifications?”

“I don’t know. Maybe because they- whoever ‘they’ are- knew that this revolution would happen and the thirteen would become one country.”

“But it would have individual states.”

America shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s weird.”

“Do you embody the nearby territories like Lousianna?”

“No. I embody only the colonies that are breaking away right now, which doesn’t include Louisiana or Florida.”

“What about split territories? Like France controls New Orleans, while the general territory belongs to England. Which means you should have some kind of personifications for them, right? But your mother is representative of the Natives, who occupied that land earlier, so shouldn’t that be you? But you’re not? And you don’t have more siblings?”

“It’s confusing, I know. Louisiana is fading and Florida has no personification if that helps.”

“No personification? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Florida will likely be absorbed by another country, and then they will embody it.”

“So you can just magically gain land that you represent?”

America nodded. “That’s one way of phrasing it, I guess. That’s why when the original settlers pressed west, I owned the land they took, too, not just the very coast, and that’s why Canada is gaining Nova Scotia as she fades.”

“Couldn’t that be used to predict the future, then?” Washington asked, leaning forward.

“Not really. Trust me, a million leaders have tried before you, and it never ends up going how you expect. In fact, trying to decipher or manipulate it tends to make things worse. So no special-glimpse-into-the-future. Sorry.”

He waved it off. “Don’t be. We got very sidetracked. Nova Scotia- why is she fading? Her province is doing very well.”

“Well, she was already fading when England first got her land. I’m not sure why, exactly, but she hasn’t stopped or recovered at all. It’s slow, but it’s happening.”

“But she wasn’t a sister of yours, even though she personifies a chunk of North America that was previously inhabited by Natives?”

“No. She just appeared.”

“Is that normal among personifications?”

“Yes, if someone doesn’t have a mother. Female personifications can have children with or without others involved. Sometimes they just end up pregnant. Not for long, though. And with those that don’t have mothers, they materialize one day and you just instinctively know that they are your child. Once in a while, you’ll find a personification that had no parents at all. They just show up. They may have siblings that they instinctively know are theirs, but not often. Sometimes young personifications are found by older ones that look after them or even a citizen of theirs, but most of the time, they struggle to survive on their own until they grow. ”

Washington hummed while fiddling with a button on the cuff of his jacket. “Interesting. So could one have extended family if they were a personification?”

“They could. Honestly, unless you’re related by blood in your immediate family, it’s up to you whether you are family or not. If you dig into it, most personifications are related somehow because we all descended from the Ancients, who have died off. Britannia, Germania, Rome, my mother, etc. But when you’re an immortal being that doesn’t actually have anything biological connecting you to even the closest of relatives, it doesn’t matter.”

“So even though Canada considers France his father, that doesn’t make him your father?”

“Right. Canada and France aren’t related anyway. They just chose to fill those roles for each other.”

“Let’s say, hypothetically, you were attracted to France, and he reciprocated those feelings. Would you engage in a relationship?”

America shrugged. “Probably. I’d ask Canada if he was okay with it first, but yeah.”

“Mhmm. And so, let’s say you considered someone your family. Can you choose not to be family any more later?”

“I guess so.”

“Fascinating,” Washington said, leaning back in his chair. “Has that happened to personifications before?”

“Not many.”

“We’ve gotten distracted again. Do you think Nova Scotia would help us?”

He shook his head. “No. When you fade, you feel weak and drained. You slowly become less and less conscious. One day, you just kind of fall asleep, and then you’re gone. Your body only sticks around for a few days before it fades, too. Some fade fast: you may disappear in just a year or two. Other times, it can take centuries. For Nova Scotia, it’s been happening for at least fifty years. She’s way too exhausted and weak to help us.”

“America, what if something terrible happens to the land you represent? You’ve said you could die when killed by another personification and that you can fade, but what if your land is decimated?”

“That’s happened to some small islands before. If their land is destroyed by a volcano, for example, they’d die. Very painfully, too. There was a tiny island England told me about. I don’t remember her name, but he said that a volcano on her island exploded while she was visiting him about something. She just started screaming and collapsed. Burns showed up all over her skin, and she died just a few minutes later. He had no idea what happened to her at first, but he was shocked that she was dead, so he got on a ship and went to visit her land. After all, no one had ever seen a personification die like that, and he wanted to know what happened. When he got there, the whole island was wrecked. A year later, it sunk underwater, and it’s gone now. So, I suppose that could happen, but not to anyone with large landmasses, like me. You also have to understand that if someone is very strong, they might live through that. Like if a freak storm tore through England, he’d live because of the strength of his empire. Also, if your capital is demolished, there’s a chance that you could die, but most survive.”

“What you’re saying is that the odds of you surviving this are fairly large, right?”

“Yes.”

Washington nodded firmly. “Good.”

*************

Night settled over Massachusetts, and only once the sun was wholly gone did England get word about the day’s battle.

“How many did we lose?” England asked.

Gage sighed, slumping down into the chair behind his desk. “A lot. They’re still counting.”

“And the rebels?”

“One.”

England blinked. “One?”

“They strung up a sharpshooter, it seems,” Gage reported bitterly. “We have to do better, England. We have to get out of here.”

“We’re well past that, General. I sent a letter long ago about the Battles of Lexington and Concord to the king. It should be almost across the sea by now. He’ll declare military action, and we’ll get reinforcements.”

“I can’t believe it, though. I’ve never seen the Americans so well-organized. They’ve never followed through on anything, and now, suddenly, they’re disciplined.”

“Perhaps it’s because they believe in the cause they’re fighting for,” England mused. “I wonder what that’s like.”

“What do you mean? You don’t believe in ours?”

“Honestly, General, I don’t care if we suppress the rebellion or not. I just want America back.”

“But haven’t you fought a war you cared about before?”

He shrugged. “I’ve defended my home before. I cared about that, I guess, but it wasn’t the same, you know? It was to protect myself, not because I had some kind of passion. When I played offense, it was normally because of an alliance with someone else or for some political gain, like proving that I’m better than France. I’ve never fought a war for what I believed was right, even during the crusades. That was an obligation, too, for me.”

“If all you want is to have America again, why fight him? Surely this is hurting your relationship.”

“It is, but he means the world to me. If he becomes his own country, he’ll be weak and vulnerable, open to any attacks. Someone else could easily sweep in and conquer his land. I’m not like the other empires- I love him. I care for him and shower him in affection. Others just exploit their colonies. Imagine if someone like Spain took America. He’d be nothing but a slave for resources. He’d be ruled over with an iron fist. Spain wouldn’t tolerate this insubordination; he’d fucking bleed it out of him if he had to in order to make America submit to his authority.”

“And you don’t use your other colonies?” Gage asked, raising a brow.

England scowled. “Not like them! Sure, I take resources from the others, but I’m good to them unless they truly need discipline.”

“So what you’re saying is that America is spoiled, and if another empire had him, he’d have to face the reality of what life as a colony is actually like.”

He spluttered, searching for words. “No! That’s not what I’m saying at all! I’m saying that the moment someone like Portugal or Spain or the Netherlands or Russia got ahold of him, they’d torture him until he was too weak to refuse anything they wanted and then take from him until he had nothing left to give.”

“What about France?”

England faltered. “What about him?”

“From what I’ve heard, he was very good to Canada. Is he as oppressive as the others?”

“Well, no, but-”

“And he cares about America- they’re already friends. So why not cede his land to France?”

“First of all, America would think I just gave him away like some kind of bargaining chip. Second, France would keep America away from me, so there’d be no hope of restoring our relationship. And third, France is an arse! I hate him! Why would I ever do anything to help him become stronger, especially when he is my greatest rival?”

“Because you care about America more than your feud with France. Unless you don’t, and you’re just being proprietorial and overprotective.”

England was utterly taken aback. “I love him!”

“I know. But maybe you love him too much.”

“Thomas, I can’t just sit by and let him leave me! I have to do something. And he’s naive- he has no idea how to operate as a nation! He’d be lost without me; he needs me!”

“He needs you?”

“Yes!”

Gage sighed sympathetically. “You sound like you’re trying to convince yourself more than me. Do you just not like the fact that he doesn’t have to rely on you?”

England’s voice cracked. “No!”

“Look, I know you care about him. But maybe, if you let him go, he’d come back to you on his own, and you could protect him as an ally, not as an owner.”

He sank onto the couch and stared at his hands, studying them intently and thinking about when they used to hold America’s. “The king or Parliament will still want to subdue the colonists.”

“Yes, but you could take America’s side. Vouch for him, support him, things like that.”

“You want me to commit treason? Against myself? I can’t do that. King George would be furious.” 

“Is that more important than America?”

“Of course not, but he left me before shots were fired at Lexington and hates me. He wouldn’t take me back if I came crawling on my knees, so I might as well avoid the wrath of my government.”

Gage nodded a little. “That’s a good point. I’m sorry that this is happening to you. I know it’s difficult.”

He shrugged, pushing back his feelings. “It is what it is. I’ve been alive long enough that it was stupid of me to think we ever had a chance.”


	23. Addison Durham

“The boisterous sea of liberty is never without a wave.” -Thomas Jefferson

General Gage paced up and down the room, twirling his quill between his fingers and biting his lip. He paused. “What if we-” He shook his head and went back to pacing. “No, that wouldn’t work.”

England watched him stop again, open his mouth to say something, think better of it, and keep going, muttering under his breath.

“You’re going to wear out your shoes.”

“It’ll be worth it if we can get out of Boston. I hate this damn town.”

He shrugged. “It’s not so bad.”

“We’ve been fenced in like prisoners for four months, England! I’m losing my mind here! We have to get out!”

“Obviously, but you’re not going to get any brilliant ideas stalking up and down the room like that. Why are you doing that, by the way?” He asked, squinting. “I’ve never seen you pace before.”

“That’s because we’ve never been under siege for a third of a year before. Come on, don’t you have any ideas?”

“None that I’m willing to act on.”

Gage paused. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nevermind. Alright, if I come up with a solution, will you stop stomping around?” He asked, irritated.

“Sure.”

England got off the couch and went to the table with their maps spread out on it. He studied each carefully, examining the island, the strip connecting it to the mainland, and the nearby waters. Gage was right: he could never win a war while penned inside Boston, so he needed to develop a plan. That and the fact that his incessant movement was very disruptive.

While he squinted at the map, his thoughts slowly began to connect. “General, I have an idea.”

*************

“America, wake up!”

He groaned and shoved his face deeper into his pillow, grumbling something intelligible.

“Come on, get up!”

More muffled complaints. His blankets were ripped away from him, and he finally rolled over, cracking open his eyes. “What?”

General Washington was looming over him, so he immediately sat up. “Sorry, sir, I didn’t realize-”

“Get dressed.”

America nodded dutifully and sprang out of bed, opening up a chest to search for day-time clothing. He yanked at his night clothes while Washington briefed him.

“The redcoats are raiding Roxbury. There’s a tavern on fire, and their defenses have withdrawn from Boston Neck.”

“They withdrew?” America questioned, shimmying into his pants. “Why would they do that?”

“It’s an escape attempt. Now, listen close. We have two objectives: first, to keep them contained in Boston. Second, we need to defend Roxbury. I have already sent troops for the latter, and now I need to succeed with the former, understand?”

“Yes, sir,” America answered. He hastily fastened the buttons to his shirt. “What would you like me to do?”

“I’m sending 300 men to the lighthouse. I want you to go with them. We can’t let them escape, and that lighthouse is serving as a beacon to them. Burn it down if you have to, but keep those redcoats in Boston, understand?”

America grabbed his rifle and swung it over his shoulder before yanking on his boots. “Yes, sir.”

“Keep an eye out for England in case he’s there. I want to know what his role in their military is.”

“Gotcha.”

Washington clapped him on the back. “I believe in you, son. Come back safe, alright?”

“I’ll try.”

He chuckled and gave America a little shove. “Alright. The squad for Lighthouse Island will be departing soon. Go on. You’ve got this.”

America gave a sloppy salute on his way out and ran through the camp. Everything was dark aside from two things: the lighthouse flashing above them and a massive fire billowing out of Roxbury.

“You headed to Boston Light?” Asked a ginger soldier with a small scar beside his left eye.

“Yeah, you?”

He nodded. “Come on! They’re leaving now.”

They dashed to catch up with a crowd of patriots running east toward the sea. Under them, the terrain was rough and uneven. Falling would be easy, so America kept a close eye on his feet. Boston Light, as the lighthouse had been nicknamed, was quite a ways off the coast, so they had to skitter down a gravel beach into rowboats.

America was one of the men that pushed the boats off the shore. The water was freezing cold as it slowly soaked into his boots, and the boats were heavy, but with his extra strength, he quickly got it off land before vaulting over the side and tumbling in.

The man he’d been running with earlier laughed. “Smooth.”

He laughed a little, too, then narrowed his eyes at him. “Hey, I know you!”

“Huh?”

“We met when we raided the tea ships in Boston while we were getting our disguises on.”

His eyes widened in recognition. “Yes, I remember! Albert, right?”

“Alfred. And you never told me your name.”

The man grinned. “Right. I’m Addison Durham.”

Their boat skidded ashore on Lighthouse Island alongside others. Patriots scrambled out, guns ready, and swarmed the island in no time at all. Soldiers clad in crimson came to oppose them, but they had the element of surprise on their side.

The continentals fought furiously, but the redcoats were good at delaying them from getting into the lighthouse. They had to stop the lighthouse from warning loyalist ships about the rocks as soon as possible, so if they couldn’t go inside and put out the light, they’d just have to damage the lighthouse.

Washington’s words came back to him. America cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, “Burn it down!”

They were all too happy to comply. Matches were struck, torches were lit, and soon the lighthouse was aflame while the battle raged below.

America knocked a red soldier down and stomped on his knee to break it. The man wailed in pain while America snatched his weapon and ran off. Sparing him meant that he’d be a prisoner later. Washington would be pleased.

One by one, the loyalist soldiers fell until only a few were left. They dropped their guns and held up their hands in surrender. Cheers exploded around the island, but there was still work to be done. Now that the lighthouse was out of commission, they had to put out the fire, or ships would still see the light, and all their work would have been for nothing.

Another rowboat had come prepared with buckets, so they darted back and forth between the ocean and the flaming lighthouse, dumping water over the fire to extinguish it. Soot streaked across America’s face, but he was filled with the zeal of victory, too pleased with his success to care.

Addison poured the last bucket and they were plunged back into darkness once more, except this time, they had twenty-three prisoners and yet another win under their belt.

*************

“How did it go?” Washington asked when America returned, hair a mess and grinning triumphantly.

“We only lost one.”

“How many dead on the other side?”

“Not sure, but we have twenty-three prisoners.”

Washington’s eyes widened. “Twenty-three? America, that’s wonderful! I knew you could do it!”

America found himself being crushed in a hug as Washington laughed. “Thanks, sir.”

He was giddy with glee, which was an odd sight to see. Normally, he was so stoic and composed. “Take tomorrow off, son. You’ve earned it.”

“Well, we still have work cut out for us tonight, sir.”

“How so?”

“Well, I assumed I’d help dig the trenches,” America said, referring to the men that had begun to split earth at Charlestown Neck, just a bit above the island area of Boston and northeast of their position. They were doing so while under fire, with half defending their comrades and the other half plunging their shovels into the soil.

Washington shook his head. “I want you here. Did you see England?”

“No. I looked, but he wasn’t there.”

“That’s alright. Come here. Look over these plans.” He beckoned America over to examine the documents on the table. “I’ve got an idea for an invasion of Boston.”

“Wow, really? What is it?”

He pointed to a few different points alongside the island’s shore. “We’d enter here, here, and here then clean them out. I’ve received information from inside sources and deserters that they don’t intend to make any more moves against us until they have back up, which means we must strike first, especially with winter coming. It’ll be difficult to keep our troops together once that hits.”

“So you want to go by water?”

“Precisely. If we move through Back Bay,” He tapped a southwest section of water, “in flat-bottomed boats, we could get in, take out as many as possible, and force them to surrender.”

“Would we go at night?”

“Yes. What do you think?”

America hummed and looked over the maps for a moment. “I don’t know. I like it up until the enter-Boston-and-start-killing part.”

“Why?”

He shrugged. “It seems well-thought-out before that, but I think we need a clearer picture of what to do once in the city.”

Washington nodded and sat down in his chair. “What do you suggest?”

“I honestly don’t know. My gut says to use the cannons to weaken them before we go in, but we’d have to stop to let our troops go inside and they’d be suspicious if we stopped firing, losing us the element of surprise, which seems like what we’re banking on.”

“Right. If they’re ready for us, we’ll be defeated.”

“We could burn the town, but that could result in a lot of civilian casualties and would destroy any useful materials inside the city.”

“Exactly. I thought about choking them out, too, which could disorient them, but I don’t know if it would be enough to cause their organization to come apart.”

America sat down, too, crossing his arms. “I’m also not sure whether it’s right for us to just kill everyone that’s fleeing, you know? Seems a little brutal.”

A twinge of a smile pulled at the corner of Washington’s mouth. “They cut down the Liberty Tree a few days ago and raided a bunch of homes of Bostonians.”

“Yeah, we should kill them.”

Washington laughed. “We’ll worry about it later. I also have an idea for helping your brother.”

His eyes brightened. “You do?”

“Yes. Since the British aren’t planning on any more attacks, I think we could spare some soldiers. We could send a thousand or so north to invade Quebec. They would go through Fort Western where there is plenty of coverage. We’re good at guerilla warfare; we need to work that to our advantage.”

“Who would lead them?”

“General Benedict Arnold. He’s a brilliant man: resourceful, fast-thinking, and his mind is made for strategy. I think if anyone can take Quebec, it’s him.”

“I’ve never met him before.”

“You will. Arnold will have to get his troops from here, right? And I’m going to call a war conference to pitch the Boston invasion, so you’ll get to meet all the other generals then. There’s a third thing, too.”

“A third thing?”

“I’ve decided to appropriate some fishing vessels to gather information and intercept boats carrying supplies for the British army.”

America raised a brow. “Like privateering?”

Washington tipped his hand back and forth in an uncertain gesture. “Sort of. More like paying impoverished fishermen that need money to feed their families to keep their ears open and block some shipping routes.”

“Sounds an awful lot like privateering.”

“I’m not the government, though, so not really.”

“So it’s just pirating.”

Washington sighed. “You don’t like it.”

He shook his head and started to laugh. “It’s not that I don’t like it. It’s just that it was unexpected.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re not opposed because it’s already decided.” Washington rolled up the map closest to him. “It’s almost morning. You should go get some sleep.”

America stood up and stretched. “That sounds good. I’ll see you later.”

The general nodded in acknowledgment, and America left to go to his room beside Washington’s. He’d earned a nap.

*************

Emma Jenkins knocked thrice on the wooden door. She shifted her weight from foot to foot anxiously, waiting until it was opened.

A British soldier looked her up and down critically. “Can I help you?”

“My name is Emma Jenkins. I need to see Arthur Kirkland.”

He opened it wider to let her through and pointed to another door. “He’s in there. Knock first.”

“Thank you.”

She went up to the indicated entrance and knocked again. Inside, she heard that silky English accent that she was a sucker for call, “Come in!”

The blond was reclining on a plush chaise with a book in his hands. He didn’t bother looking to see who entered. “What is it?”

Emma cleared her throat nervously. “Um, I know what they’re doing in Philadelphia.”

Arthur sat up straight when he heard her voice, tossing his book aside. “Emma! My god, you’ve been gone so long! How are you?”

“I’m fine,” She said as he placed a hand on each of her shoulders to scan her for injuries. “I- I went to, uh, I went to Philadelphia and investigated Congress and-”

“Thank the lord you’re safe. Your mother has been worried sick. You didn’t get hurt, did you?”

She blushed. “No, I’m okay.”

“Good, good. Okay, yes, sorry, what were you going to say?” He asked, releasing her and leaning against his desk.

“Congress approved a motion for General Benedict Arnold to invade Quebec. They were trying to convince the Quebecian government to join their side off the record, but they said no, so instead, the rebels are going to take the north by force.”

Arthur’s eyes widened. “Really? How do you know?”

“I stole Mr. Jefferson’s bag.”

“As in Thomas Jefferson?”

“Yes. I went through all of his papers, and then I put it back, so he has no idea that anyone took it.” She said proudly. “General Arnold is leaving on the 11th with 1,100 of General Washington’s men, and he intends to leave from Cambridge, then go through Fort Western.”

He exhaled shakily. “Thank you, Emma. You’ve done a splendid job. Now you need to go home to your family. Tell your mother you were planning to meet up with someone outside the city- a friend, lover, whatever- but you got locked out. She might believe that.”

Emma couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed that the visit wouldn’t last long. “When will you have another assignment for me?”

“I’m not sure. Hurry home, now. I need to go talk to General Gage.”

*************

October brought misfortune to both sides. Washington’s invasion plan was rejected by the war council, as was a second plan. The other generals said that they wanted to wait until the harbor was frozen.

Inside the city, England was very pissed that he had a new General to deal with. Thomas Gage had been replaced by William Howe, who England didn’t like as much. He had to pull out his intimidation techniques to convince Howe that all prisoners had to be seen by him before any torture began.

Howe was, simply put, a mess. He had an insatiable gambling addiction, lacked motivation, and didn’t listen to what anyone else said. Not to mention his over-inflated ego and hero complex that he flaunted in front of his troops, which directly contradicted his reality.

Good things had happened, too, though. America had finally gotten a Navy scraped together and gotten Eyota back after a farmer found him. As for England, well, he was getting more used to being stuck in Boston.

None of that directly applied to Kaiya and Halona, though. They’d spent a couple of months at home, but now it was time to come back to the colonies.

First, they went to Philadelphia, expecting that America would still be there. Alas, he was not, but they were told of his whereabouts, so they set off toward Boston with River and Angeni.

Upon their arrival, they were stopped by a clump of soldiers. Kaiya told them that America would let them in, so one of them left and returned with Washington’s advisor.

America beamed when he saw them. “Kaiya! Halona! You’re okay!”

Kaiya swung off Angeni first and ran into his waiting arms. “We’ve missed you so much.”

Halona jumped down. “Good to see you again, Alfred.”

“Right back at you.” He looked at the soldiers that had blocked their way. “No need to worry, they’re with me. Thank you for your vigilance. You’re dismissed.”

The soldiers went back to their posts while America led the girls into the camp. Angeni was loosely tied to a post outside their headquarters, and then they went inside to America’s room.

“When did you leave Boston?”

Halona shrugged, flopping unceremoniously onto the bed. “Late May.”

“Really? I thought you were inside the city this whole time.”

“Nope,” She replied, popping the p. “We were in our village with our families. I needed to smooth some things over with Aarushi, anyway.”

Kaiya sat down beside her while America took a chair. “And I wanted to spend some time with my siblings, especially Kanatase.”

“I’m glad you got the opportunity to.”

“So,” Halona said, sitting up abruptly. “What’s the situation with England?”

He grimaced. “Ha, not any better than when you last saw me. We’ve been winning the war so far, but they’ve only been small victories.”

“Better than no victories.”

“True.”

“Where’s Eyota?”

America’s whole face lit up. “I have him! He’s at the stables!”

Halona jumped off the bed. “I’m going to go see him. God, it’s been months. You two can stay here.”

Before either could get a word in, Halona was running out of the house toward the stables. Kaiya laughed and shook her head. “She’s so impulsive.”

“You can say that again.”

“I love her, though,” Kaiya added, grasping the chain that her ring was strung on and pulling the necklace from underneath the collar of her dress.

America smirked. “You’re so lovesick.”

“Yeah, I am. So, have you made any more friends since joining General Washington?”

He nodded. “Another soldier named Addison Durham and the general himself.”

“What’s he like? He seems so… god-like. Is he always so foreboding?”

“No. He just acts like that in front of the troops. To be honest, I’ve only known him for a few months, and he’s already become a father-figure for me.”

Kaiya grinned. “Awww, America! That’s wonderful. You deserve a dad. How’s Canada?”

“Fine, I suppose. He wants to join the rebellion with me, but his people aren’t convinced, so we’ve made plans. My men are going north as we speak to invade Quebec.”

“Really? Wow. Do you think they’ll succeed?”

“It all depends on how much his people resist and whether or not the English back them up. I guess we’ll just have to wait and see.”

“Whatever happens, you two will still be brothers. It won’t change that.”

“I know. I’m still worried, though.”

Halona came back into the room, looking happier than before. She pressed a kiss to Kaiya’s cheek and sat down beside her. “I’m back. Hey America, I have a question.”

“Shoot.”

“Now that we’re here, obviously it’s not safe to go back into Boston. So what exactly are we going to do?”

“It’s up to you. I could get you a tent here, but there’s a lot of guys around and not all of them are friendly.”

Halona cracked her knuckles. “I have knives.”

“Or you could go to Brookline,” America continued as if she hadn’t interrupted, “It’s the next closest town.”

“We can’t go to Roxbury?”

“No, the redcoats have taken it. You could head down to New York City, Philadelphia, or Baltimore, maybe even New Haven or Providence.”

Kaiya sighed sadly. “I liked Boston.”

“It won’t be under siege forever,” America promised. “We’ll get to go home eventually.”

“If one of your cannonballs doesn’t blow up our house,” Halona grumbled.

Her wife lightly smacked her arm. “Halona.”

“Sorry. I know, unfair acts and all. But I like my bookshop.”

America smiled sympathetically. “I know. How about this: we can all shack up in here. Safety in numbers, right? Plus, the troops would have to be idiots to mess with people they knew were closely connected to me. I’ll get another bed in here, and it’ll be just like old times.”

Halona looked uncertain, but then Kaiya exclaimed, “I like that idea!” So she agreed.

“Sounds good.”

“It’s settled, then. Welcome to the Continental Army!”

*************

In the coming days, much would occur. The British raided Lechmere’s Island to get provisions, which had been tight during the siege. They left with 400, were intercepted by patriots, and returned with 398 men plus ten cows.

Lord Dunmore, a loyalist nobleman, proclaimed that all slaves who ran away from their masters to join the royal army would be freed, earning the British lots of new recruits. He also declared martial law and won a battle at Kemp’s Landing in Virginia.

More restrictions were imposed on Canada, but American forces had taken Montreal with the leadership of Richard Montgomery, Washington’s friend, and a very capable general. They were creeping closer and closer to Quebec by the day.

As for the Americans, they had finally put together the Continental Marines. Things were starting to go well, which was why something had to ruin it all.

Kaiya giggled. “Halona, no, we’ll get caught!”

“No, we won’t. Come on, we’ve been stuck sharing a room with family members for months. We never get any time alone.” She tugged Kaiya’s hand and led her into the forest. “Considering we’re crashing with America, I don’t think we’ll have many chances in the foreseeable future.”

She rolled her eyes, but a grin betrayed her. “You’re ridiculous.”

“But you love me,” Halona sing-songed.

They wound through the trees until they were far enough away from camp that they couldn’t hear it anymore. Halona dragged Kaiya in for a kiss, sliding her hands to her waist and holding her close.

Kaiya’s fingers wound through her hair and ghosted over the back of her neck to make Halona shiver. “You’re so beautiful, you know that?”

Her cheeks flushed. Kaiya took a moment to revel in the fact that she was the only person that could get Halona flustered or take her off-guard.

Instead of answering, Halona started kissing and nipping at her neck to leave little love bites. They stumbled backward until Kaiya was against a sturdy oak, tilting her head back to give Halona better access.

Halona’s hands were just sliding south when they heard wolf-whistles behind them. Instantly, they jumped apart, Halona standing in front of Kaiya and glaring at five British soldiers.

“What are you doing here?” She demanded. “How did you get out of Boston?”

They laughed. One hooted, “Don’t let us stop you, ladies.”

“Yeah, go ahead!”

Halona shook her head, crossing her arms. “Piss off.”

“Oh ho ho, feisty!” Said their ringleader, looking her up and down. “Fine. Come on over here, then.”

She scoffed. “You wish.”

They split up, circling the two girls with hungry eyes. One took Kaiya’s arm. “Don’t be like that.”

Kaiya yanked her arm away and stood back to back with Halona. Both unsheathed knives from their belts and held them out threateningly.

“I’ll warn you once,” Halona snarled. “Fuck off and leave us alone.”

Their leader laughed. “Whatever you say, doll. Grab ‘em.”

All at once, the soldiers charged. Halona stabbed at one and drove her knife into his shoulder with all her might. He cried out and crumpled to the ground while she punched another in the throat. Behind her, Kaiya swiped at one of the attackers, slicing him across his face. A second grabbed hold of her elbow, but she slammed her knee into his groin, sending him to the dirt, howling in pain and clutching himself.

The one with the cut across his face scowled. “Well, now you’ve just made us mad!”

The leader had an ax that was intended to be used for gathering wood for his comrades, but now he was swinging it at Halona. She tackled Kaiya to the ground so that they both dodged it. Halona scrambled back up, helping Kaiya to her feet.

“Damn you,” He cursed, lifting his weapon once again.

Each leaped to one side to avoid its arc, but with different results. Kaiya vaulted over the man who was still laying down and clutching his shoulder, but Halona’s ankle was seized by the one Kaiya had kicked. He yanked her legs out from underneath her.

Halona slammed to the ground, knocking her head on a rock. Kaiya gasped, horrified. “Halona!”

In her moment of distraction, one of the men wrapped his arm around her throat, squeezing to cut off her air circulation while she kicked and clawed at his hands with her nails.

Everything was hazy to Halona. Kaiya’s face faded in and out of view. The last thing she saw before blacking out was the soldiers dragging Kaiya away toward the city.


	24. High Treason

“A traitor is everyone who does not agree with me.” -King George III of England

Groggily, Halona pressed a hand to her head. She winced upon contact and drew it back. Half-dried blood was smeared across her palm.

She sat up slowly, the whole world spinning as if she’d just turned around a hundred times. What had happened? Where was she? Why was she hurt? The harder she tried to remember, the less focused her train of thought was.

The dull throb kept pounding in her brain, and she lowered herself back onto the grass, groaning in pain. She definitely had a concussion and whether or not she was ever going to be able to get up was debatable. Most of her wanted to die right then and there.

Her eyes snapped open. Kaiya.

Halona struggled to her feet as fast as she could, but she fell back down, earning her a rock to the knee that was already bruising when she finally stood. Her back pressed against a tree and she gasped for breath. She had to steady herself or she’d never make it back to camp.

The woods around her were still blurry, but if she squinted, she could make out individual trunks. Gasping them for leverage whenever she could stumble forward a few more steps, she trekked back toward camp.

Heart thudding, stomach lurching, and body aching, she continued.

“It’s for Kaiya,” Halona whispered to herself.

She couldn’t save Kaiya in this condition- she needed help. Most of the time, her pride would have gotten in the way of asking for assistance, but who knew what would happen to Kaiya if she didn’t rescue her.

When they’d left, the soldiers didn’t seem horny anymore, at least. More like angry. There was a chance Kaiya could be assaulted, but Halona realized that it was more likely that they dragged her to Boston for arrest or killed her.

Sounds of people reached her ears. She was getting close. Slowly, her eyesight was improving, too. Up ahead, she could see the tree line and nearly wept with joy.

This was the final leg of the journey, and she wasn’t sure how much time had already passed. She needed to go faster.

Shoving off the tree, Halona broke into a run, spurred by the thought of finding Kaiya dead. She couldn’t let that happen, no matter what.

Spots danced across her vision, obscuring most things. She was so dizzy she thought she might vomit, but every time she stumbled, she remembered what was at stake and kept going.

Washington’s camp came into view. In a split second, she turned and took a back route toward the Continental headquarters. It’d get her there faster so long as she could stay on her feet.

Snow covering the ground made everything more complicated, and her throat burned from heaving in the frozen air. The wind cut at her cheeks, ears, and nose. She shuddered. It was then that she realized she’d lost her cloak somewhere along the way. Oh well. She could go back for it later.

Halona whirled around another corner, and finally, finally, the yellow house was ahead.

Her foot sank into a snowdrift, but she clawed her way back up, running and hurling herself through the door.

**************

America was bored and doodling in his journal when Halona burst in, eyes wide and tousled hair matted with blood. He shut the journal immediately. “What’s wrong?”

“T- They,” she paused to gasp for breath, leaning on the table, “They took Kaiya!”

He shook his head, not understanding. “Who? Who took Kaiya?”

“I don’t know! We were outside the camp in the woods and- and then these redcoats came along!”

Quickly, he rushed to her side to support her and lower her into a chair, checking her for other injuries. “Redcoats? In the forest?”

She nodded frantically, then winced. That was a bad idea. “I know. We didn’t expect them, either. There were five and t- they tried to make us- but we wouldn’t, so they attacked us!”

“What happened after that?” America asked, trying to keep his voice steady while he got a washcloth. If he could be calm, maybe he could get Halona to be, too.

“We fought back, but I fell, and my head hit a rock. I blacked out, and I- I don’t know! I saw them taking her back to away, and when I woke up, she was gone!” She took the cloth America had offered to her and pressed it onto her head, biting her lip hard to keep from making any pained sounds.

“Stay here.” America grabbed his boots and tugged them on, sprinting out of his room, down the stairs, and out of the house. He found who he was looking for leaning against a log and laughing with some fellow soldiers. He grabbed his arm and roughly led him back to the house, much to his irritation.

“What?” Addison Durham demanded once they were inside.

“You have to help me. We have a problem.”

He readjusted his shirt. “What kind of problem?”

“My friend, Kaiya, was kidnapped by Tories. We think they took her to Boston. I need you to go into the city and figure out where she is.”

Addison stared at him. “You want me to go into Boston?”

“Yes.”

“I’m a patriot.”

“Well, you wouldn’t tell people that. Please, Addison! She’s like a sister to me. They’d recognize me or Halona,” he gestured to his friend, still sitting in the chair America left her in. “You know the streets because you used to live there, so you’d be good strategically. I’m begging you.”

“Alright, alright,” He said, laughing lightly. “No need for that. What do you want me to do when I find her?”

“If you can, bring her back. If not, come tell us what you discovered.”

“How am I supposed to find one girl in all of Boston?”

“She’s a native, so her skin is darker, and if she can, she’ll be fighting to get away from them.”

He sighed. “Okay, what does she look like?”

“Wavy black hair that goes to her mid-back, hazel eyes, a round-ish face. Uh, long eyelashes? She was last seen wearing, um…”

“A tan dress,” Halona cut in. “She had a red shawl around her shoulders, lace-up boots, and a red ribbon in her hair that was holding back the strands that get in her face.”

Addison nodded. “Alright, I’ll look, but I can’t make any promises. Hell, I may not even be able to get into the city.”

“Go through the woods,” Halona advised.

“Good idea.”

“Thank you, Addison, I owe you one,” America said. “Good luck.”

“I’m going to need it.”

*************

Addison came back when it was dark, informing them of what happened. The soldiers had accused Kaiya of attempted murder as revenge for fighting back in the woods, so she was currently being held in Boston’s jail under lock and key.

Attempted murder. Now that was a problem. The punishment for trying to kill someone was death. Kaiya had no chance of being found anything but guilty when it was the word of a female native against five Tory soldiers.

The only solution was to rescue her. Since the prison was so well guarded, there was no way they could save her while she was still being held there. Their only chance was to get her when they moved her to and from her trial or her execution. Considering that the trial was being conducted that night, there wasn’t enough time to plot her rescue before it began. That left them with the unsavory option of getting her on her way to her execution.

Most of this was unknown to England, though.

General Howe rolled his eyes. “Listen to this bullshit.”

“Hmm?” England hummed, stirring a dab of honey into his tea and reclining on the couch in the general’s office at their headquarters.

“Some girl has been accused of attempted murder because she fought back against some soldiers that were trying to find out whether she was a loyalist or not. Apparently, she stabbed someone in the shoulder and cut another one across the face along with some other minor injuries.”

England copied his actions by rolling his eyes. “Seriously? That’s the most pathetic lie I’ve ever heard. It was probably self-defense, knowing how rough some of the men are.”

“I wish I were kidding.”

“Who accused her?’

“Five of our soldiers.”

He winced. “Oh. Those odds aren’t good.”

“I know. Poor girl.”

Names of the list of people in Boston he knew flipped through his mind. “Her last name isn’t Jenkins, is it?”

“No. She doesn’t have one, it seems. She’s a native.”

Briefly, he thought of Kaiya and Halona, but they’d fled the city, so the girl couldn’t be either of them. “Well, that’s unfortunate. No way she’ll win the trail.”

“Yeah, it’s happening tonight. Do you want to go?”

England shook his head. “No, why would I?”

“I don’t know, boredom? I might go. Nevermind, it doesn’t matter.” He put the report down and switched to a new one, reading it and then exclaiming, “Fuck!”

“What?”

Howe scowled. “They got a brigantine of ours yesterday, the HMS Nancy. It was full of ammunition, weapons, and provisions. Now Washington is going to get it all instead of us. Goddamn it!”

The personification sipped his tea bitterly. “Great. It’s December, and we’ve got nothing. We’re critically low on wood, you know.”

“I sent five soldiers to go get some from the woods earlier.”

He furrowed his brow. “I thought the woods were under rebel control.”

“They are. They didn’t get any. You know about the disease, too, right?” Howe asked. Smallpox and scurvy were running rampant across the city, taking men even faster than desertion and starvation, which were also issues.

“At least the rebels are suffering, too. Last I heard, they have smallpox in their camp as well, and they’re on tight supplies. Money, also. They can’t pay their soldiers, they’re so low on gunpowder that Washington distributed spears, and many of their enlistments are expiring when the new year begins.”

“But they can eat!” Howe complained. “I had a chunk of bread for breakfast this morning, England. A chunk of bread.”

He glared at him. “I had nothing.”

“You’re drinking tea with honey right now.”

“It’s orange-flavored and lukewarm.”

Howe shrugged. “Okay, fine. But I wish we could have a fucking fire in here. It’s freezing. Our men have it bad, too. Most of them aren’t used to the cold here in Massachusetts. London is so much warmer- which is a sentence I never thought I’d say. The warmest parts of the day here are equivalent to the coldest back home.”

Recently, their soldiers had been tearing down local buildings that were vacant to burn the wood. No coal had come over in forever, which was why some soldiers were sitting around burning church pews to keep warm. When America found out that England helped tear down the Old North Meeting House for firewood, he’d probably kill him. Oh, and the Liberty Tree. Yeah, he’d be furious about that, too.

“We just need to tough it out until spring. Then we’ll escape. Washington’s numbers will have dwindled greatly if that enlistment expiration thing is true. Then, we’ll swiftly defeat his army. I’ll take America, you’ll move your men to help another one of our generals, and this war will end with us winning.”

Howe nodded, tapping the desk unconsciously. “About that- what do you intend to do with America once we capture him and his men? It’s not like our cells could hold a personification, what with the extra strength and all.”

“I could contain him if need be, but hopefully, it won’t come to that. Best case scenario, I get to him, he realizes he was being silly, he apologizes, and we go back to London to live happily ever after.”

Howe examined him skeptically. “Uh-huh. He doesn’t seem like the kind of person to just surrender like that.”

England waved it off. “I know, I know. I’ll talk to him, convince Parliament to revoke the Quartering Act- which will appease him, that’s one of the things he’s angriest about- and remind him of all the good times we had together. I’ll talk about our best moments, tell him how much I love him, kiss him until he stops crying over feeling guilty about the way he acted, and then it will all be okay.”

“Worst case scenario?”

He grimaced. “Worst case, I can procure some reinforced shackles to hold him. We’ll get on a ship and go straight back to London. I’ll get guards for the house so he can’t leave and do my best to make him not hate me for all those things. One day, he’ll wake up and see how stupid this all was, and we’ll be together again.”

“What if he doesn’t change his mind? Or what if he runs?”

England’s expression saddened, and his eyes flickered to the floor, examining the wood in front of the couch. “We both know I can’t hurt him. I won’t, either. I love him too much. So, I’m not sure exactly. But I have until spring to figure that out, so it’ll be fine.”

Howe burst out laughing. “Oh, man, that’s priceless. England, I hate to break it to you, but all of that sounds like complete horseshit.”

“It’s not!” England protested, jumping up.

“You want to chain him up and drag him across the sea, away from his home, to lock him up in your house, and you expect that he’s going to want to be in a relationship with you ever again? Hell, with all that, it’d be a miracle he even learned to tolerate you.”

England forced himself not to get sadder. He walked over to stand in front of Howe’s desk and crossed his arms, staring at a niche in the surface. “I never said it’d be easy or quick.”

He wiped a tear away, slowing his laughter. “Wow. England, look, that’s never going to work. If you ever want to fuck America again, you’re going to have to do it by force.”

England’s face went white. “What? No! I’d never- I couldn’t- he’s- I… How could you say something like that?”

“It’s war, England. That’s what happens when you lose. It’s not a big deal. Break his fighting spirit, and he’ll do whatever you want.”

Furiously, England shook his head. “Absolutely not. No way in hell. I love America. In the end, if he doesn’t love me, then he doesn’t love me. But no matter what, he doesn’t deserve that, and I’m going to treat him well.”

Howe held up his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay, fine. You’re too sensitive for your own good- you know that, right? If you can’t do it, hand him off to some of our men. They’d be happy to wear him down. Hell, I’d do it. It’s been way, way too long since I’ve gotten the chance to fuck someone that’s actually attractive.”

England slammed his hand onto Howe’s desk so hard that he was pretty sure he heard the wood crack. His voice dropped low, dripping with venom. “Let me make this very, very clear to you, General. If America ends up in our possession, he will be taken straight to me, unharmed and safe. Should I find out that _one fucking person_ touches him while he’s under our care, I swear to all that is good and holy, I will kill you. I will rip you apart with my bare hands, hear me? And I promise you I won’t do it fast. So don’t you _dare_ decide to take matters into your own hands, don’t you _dare_ suggest such a disgusting thing to me ever again, and don’t you _ever_ lay a finger on America, or you will suffer the most severe consequences I can dream up and, I assure you, I am very creative. Have I made myself clear?”

General Howe stared back at him with wide eyes, slinking down in his chair. He swallowed dryly. “Crystal.”

“Good.” England snarled. He shoved off the desk and stormed out of the office, heading for his room.

When he got through the door, he turned the lock and sunk against it. Glancing at them, he realized that his hands were trembling. In fact, his whole body was shaking with anger and another emotion he’d refused to show General Howe: fear.

Christ, the thought of anything happening to America when he was in the hands of his men was sickening. Be it rape or plain old violence, if America were hurt in British custody, he’d never forgive himself.

The possibility of such a thing happening was far too real for him to manage, so he stumbled to his feet and onto his bed, pulling off his cravat and other clothes to switch to nighttime attire.

He struck a match and lit a candle on his nightstand to illuminate the dark room. His limbs felt like weights as he slid out of his clothes.

Finally, he was able to roll into bed and blow out the candle. Each time he closed his eyes, though, he was haunted by different scenarios, all of them ending in America abused and lying on the ground while men walked away, dressed in neat, shiny black boots and scarlet military coats.

*************

_England took an unsteady breath while he waited. King Edward sat beside him, looking eerily happy as he watched the bustling crowd below the balcony._

__

_The square was clear and set up for the pending execution. It made England uneasy to look at it. There was nothing he wanted more than to run back to Windsor Castle and crawl into his bed, shoving all thoughts of what this day would hold out of his mind, but he couldn’t do that. If he and his ruler were to inflict such a gruesome penalty on someone, he had to be there to see it, because if they couldn’t stomach watching it, they didn’t deserve to order it._

__

_Not that England wanted this to happen. He had requested that Edward show mercy on the Scottish revolutionary, but he refused. England could only imagine how angry Scotland would be when he heard what happened to his beloved knight._

__

_People began to shout down one of the streets, and England swallowed dryly, bracing himself for when the horse dragging William Wallace through London rounded the corner. When they did, citizens within range threw garbage, jeering and mocking him. Surprisingly, he didn’t seem to be making any sound. He was biting his lip hard to deny them the satisfaction, even when his naked body was raked over the stone roads._

__

_At its master’s orders, the horse stopped. The two executioners cut through the ropes connecting Wallace’s ankles to the animal and hauled him up to the noose they’d prepared. As they tightened it around his neck, he could not stand, and they had to hold him up by his arms._

__

_Two blond men stepped forward with scrolls, one reading out the charges against him in English while the other spoke in Gaelic. Not that they could be heard very easily over all the noise, but anyone who could have listened would know that the bloodied man before them had been deemed guilty of high treason after Scottish rebels had fought for independence and had been defeated by the English army._

__

_“He’s finally going to get what he deserves,” Edward said gleefully to England, squirming in his seat in perverse excitement. “And once he’s dealt with, I’m going to get rid of his brothers, too.”_

__

_His lisp made the statement no less ominous._

__

_Losing Scotland, Wales, or either of the Irelands sounded like hell to England, even if they fought all the time. It pained him to know that Wallace and his brothers would all be meeting tragic ends._

__

_Edward frowned at him. “You don’t seem excited.”_

__

_“I’m not,” He replied curtly, crossing his arms. “I don’t enjoy watching these. They’re way too harsh.”_

__

_“Too harsh? He’s a traitor, England.”_

__

_There was no winning this argument- not with Edward. He would never listen to reason, and his short temper was annoying to be on the receiving end of. Even if England was the only person he couldn’t kill and didn’t dare injure, his rants were still terribly insufferable and best avoided. ___

____

__

____

_He missed Henry III, Edward’s father. Henry was sympathetic, easy to talk to, and wise. Once in a while, he’d have an outburst, but he was generally a kind person and pleasant to work with, something that could not be said of his son. The only thing of his father’s that Edward had inherited, besides the kingdom, was his drooping left eyelid. What could you expect in a family of inbreds, though? Damn the previous, stubborn monarchs and House of Plantagenet for their insistence on pure bloodedness._

____

__

____

_England waved off his previous statement. “Nevermind.”_

____

__

____

_Once the noose was secure, Wallace was strung up. He kicked, choked, and spluttered for a while before they brought him down, not giving him the kindness of death yet. Before that release, he’d have to suffer much, much more._

____

__

____

_The emasculation part was quick but no less upsetting to watch. However, the crowd loved it, shrieking wildly in delight while they strapped him down and prepared for the next phase of his torture._

____

__

____

_His screams burned into England’s mind as they cut a small hole in his abdomen and began pulling out his organs to toss into a large fire. The air filled with the nauseating stench of burning flesh, suffocating England and making him feel light-headed. For a moment, he squeezed his eyes shut to take some deep, shuddering breaths and steady himself._

____

__

____

_But as Wallace pleaded with them to stop and screamed his throat raw, his voice changed. England wasn’t sure what exactly was different at first, but he felt forced to look back._

____

__

____

_His eyes fluttered open. Suddenly, as he was looking down, the man bound, bleeding, and dying for leading a revolution against the crown was no longer William Wallace._

____

__

____

_It was America._

____

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____

_England’s heart nearly stopped, and he whipped around to look at Edward, but he wasn’t himself anymore. His dark hair had become powdered white, and he wasn’t as tall. The king beside him was no longer Edward I but George III. ___

______ _ _

__

______ _ _

_King George smiled at him and raised a glass of wine that had not been there before. “A toast- to the death of America.”_

______ _ _

__

______ _ _

_Frantically, England scrambled out of his seat and looked below the balcony he and the king were seated on. A pile of heads was beside the gallows- heads belonging to America’s friends, allies, and heroes. George Washington was on top, followed by John Adams, Samuel Adams, John Hancock, Thomas Paine, Benjamin Franklin, John Jay, Alexander Hamilton, Silas Deane, and at least a dozen more in preparation for being displayed on London Bridge. That made sense. America was the last to be killed so that he would have to see his most admired heroes die first._

______ _ _

__

______ _ _

_He looked back to America and felt like he would throw up. What could he do? How could he help him?_

______ _ _

__

______ _ _

_Suddenly, the entire square was dead silent except for America’s sobs and hysterical screams, so that England was sure to hear every single one. He made eye contact with England and shrieked, “Iggy! H- Help me! Please!” ___

________ _ _ _ _

__

________ _ _ _ _

_There was no time to think. England darted inside and down the stairs, which kept winding on forever. It felt like ages before he reached the bottom and sprinted into the square. As he approached, two guards grabbed him by the shoulders and held him back._

________ _ _ _ _

__

________ _ _ _ _

_Both of them were faces he recognized, but he was too distracted to remember where he knew them from. “Let me go!”_

________ _ _ _ _

__

________ _ _ _ _

_“We can’t do that,” said one._

________ _ _ _ _

__

________ _ _ _ _

_A gurgling, agonized screech came from America, still strapped down on the other side of the guards. “Iggy, p- please! Please, I need y- you!”_

________ _ _ _ _

__

________ _ _ _ _

_All of England’s extra strength seemed to be gone because he couldn’t push past the soldiers no matter how hard he tried._

________ _ _ _ _

__

________ _ _ _ _

_He had to assure him somehow. “Hold on, love! I’m coming!”_

________ _ _ _ _

__

________ _ _ _ _

_With each tortured cry of pain, England fought harder, but he couldn’t get through the guards. He could only watch desperately as America looked at him again, eyes overflowing with tears. “How could you do this to me?”_

________ _ _ _ _

__

________ _ _ _ _

_“I didn’t!” England answered, “I would never!”_

________ _ _ _ _

__

________ _ _ _ _

_“You told them to!” He accused between sobs and dying gasps._

________ _ _ _ _

__

________ _ _ _ _

_“No, that’s not true! I swear! Please just… hang in there! I’ll help you! I’ll get you! I’ll make this right!”_

________ _ _ _ _

__

________ _ _ _ _

_Something felt wet on his feet, and he looked down to see them bare against the cobblestone London street, soaked in America’s blood. The red stream ran from where he was restrained, through the cracks, and into the gutters, staining everything around it. Somehow, England knew that he would never be able to wash it off of his skin._

________ _ _ _ _

__

________ _ _ _ _

_“Why?” His lover asked, hoarse voice cracking. “I know I didn’t listen, but-”_

________ _ _ _ _

__

________ _ _ _ _

_He couldn’t finish his sentence because the executioner plunged his hand back inside his gaping wound and he screamed so loud that England’s head hurt._

________ _ _ _ _

__

________ _ _ _ _

_The next time he could speak, he stared right at England with heartbroken, watery, Carolina blue eyes._

________ _ _ _ _

__

________ _ _ _ _

_All he could say was, “I thought you loved me.”_

**************

England awoke with a start, gasping for breath and sitting straight up. His body was drenched with cold sweat, and his cheeks had tears smeared across them. He sat still for a few moments, trying his best to calm down.

He was in Massachusetts, not London. America was fine. He was just outside of town, probably sleeping soundly and drooling on his pillow

“It wasn’t real, England,” He whispered to himself, drying his face on his sleeve. “It wasn’t real.”

He repeated it religiously, like a mantra, but no matter how many times he said it, he could still hear America’s screams.


	25. Rescue

“We must, indeed, all hang together or, most assuredly, we shall all hang separately.” -Benjamin Franklin

America was proud to say that Virginian forces had driven the British under the barbaric Lord Dunmore, the same man who led those responsible for the Yellow Creek Massacre, out of Virginia. There were between 62 and 102 British casualties, whereas there were no deaths, and only one hurt on the Americans’ side, a soldier that got a cut on his thumb.

General Henry Knox was currently transporting 56 captured Canadian cannons to Massachusetts, but it was slow going in the harsh winter weather, which was also affecting Washington’s forces. Eventually, the general had decided it was time to build cabins, and it was amazing how fast they sprung up when the soldiers were motivated by personal gain.

None of this was at the forefront of America’s mind, though. Kaiya had been found guilty and was sentenced to death by hanging at noon on December 21. He spent every moment thinking about their rescue plan, turning it over in his mind to try to find some way to make it more reliable. They were relying way too much on luck.

The only one that spent more time worrying than America was Halona. She didn’t sleep for a week after Kaiya was taken. It was only when America told her she would mess up their plan if she didn’t get any rest that she finally went to bed.

Addison and America had grown closer since Kaiya’s capture. If Halona were busy shooting arrows for stress relief, he would listen to America talk about his concerns. He was full of practical advice and realism, which America needed sometimes.

In return, America listened to his woes, too. He missed his house in Boston and was worried it’d been destroyed in the cannon fire. With the start of the war, his whole life had been turned upside down. Still, he intended to continue serving the Continental Army past the turn of the year into 1776.

It had been Addison who came up with the plan for saving Kaiya on a warm afternoon. They’d been grouped together outside, enjoying the temperature rising above freezing. The dark clouds on the horizon spelled snow’s return if it didn’t stay unusually warm. America hoped it would.

When December 21 dawned, they got together their supplies, reviewed the plan, and took off for Boston, using the woods to get in. At the first clothesline they saw that had British coats draped across it, America and Addison stole them. He wasn’t fond of being back in the uniform. It reminded him too much of the last war, but it had to be done.

Boston was rather crowded thanks to the pleasant weather. Everyone wanted to enjoy the sun, and the three interlopers easily slipped into the background, blending in.

The gallows were set up in a market square. Stalls had been pushed aside to make room for them, and America didn’t like watching a blond flip the rope around to make a noose. People crowded around, never missing the chance for some entertainment to draw them out of their mundane lives.

America, Halona, and Addison split up, taking their places. The drum beats were heard soon enough, and America’s heart clenched when he saw Kaiya with her hands in iron shackles. She was led through the angry mob to the blond executioner by three tough-looking soldiers.

One of them began reading aloud the information on her execution while the blond slipped the noose over her head.

America felt weak in the knees. What if it didn’t work? What if he had to watch Kaiya die? What if he heard the sickening crunch of bone that would come with her broken neck?

The executioner tightened the loop and let go, walking over to the lever that would make the floor under Kaiya’s feet drop out.

*************

England breathed in the fresh air. “It sure is nice to have a moment of temperate weather, don’t you think?”

General Howe nodded. Things were normal between him and England on the surface, but he’d decided not to contradict him anymore after he split his desk twenty days ago (he’d had to get a new one from an empty office, and it wasn’t as large as the first). He felt like he was always walking on eggshells around the empire.

England meandered lazily, Howe at his side until he spotted a congregation in an ahead market square from an alley on the other side of a row of buildings. He furrowed his brow. “Why are all those people over there?”

“I think that girl is getting hanged today,” Howe answered offhandedly.

He frowned. Right, right, the execution.

There were a lot of people there, more than England would have predicted if he had been asked to estimate the turn out of a simple execution for a crime that wasn’t very interesting. Maybe it was the nice weather. Nothing made a better day outing than a good execution.

Strangely, something deep in his gut lured him toward it, and he found himself wandering down the alley with Howe calling after him.

“Arthur! What are you doing?” Howe asked as he caught his shoulder.

“I just want to see who this supposed murderer is.”

England attempted to wade through the crowd, but it was way too cramped. He settled for standing at the end of the alley. His gaze landed on the girl as the executioner jerked the noose tight around her throat.

*************

That was their cue. America threw people aside and sprinted toward the gallows just as the heavens above opened up. Rain slammed down on them and thunder cracked. Ladies shrieked and held up their shawls to cover themselves. The crowd scattered, meaning that the only ones left were the three soldiers, the executioner, the heroes, and Kaiya.

Addison tackled the executioner before he could pull the lever, snatching his knife from his belt and smashing the handle into his forehead to incapacitate him.

The trio of soldiers leaped into action, brandishing their muskets. One fired at Halona, but his shot missed. She whipped out her bow and aimed it steadily at his head as she walked backward toward Kaiya.

America vaulted up onto the stage and ran to Kaiya’s side. The other guard shoved him down onto the splintery wood and pointed his gun, but America kicked its muzzle and drew his pistol.

His eyes flashed furiously, daring him to make a move. “Back off!”

Addison took on the third guard, swiping his knife through the air and slicing at his arm even as he fired his gun. Unhit, Addison brought his pistol out as well, pointing it at his opponent. “You wanna go?”

All three rescuers moved backward without turning around, forming a semi-circle around Kaiya. Addison passed the knife behind his back to America.

The rain slid down America’s face and obscured his vision. He blinked furiously to keep his sight on the redcoat, but it flickered to an alley behind him where he saw England, staring back at him with wide green eyes. For a moment, he thought that he wasn’t real. It was just the stress of the situation playing tricks on him or something. But his form never wavered.

In the outskirts of his peripheral vision, America saw the executioner pushing himself up on his elbows. He reached for the lever, but America was faster. He whirled around and slashed through the rope that connected the noose to the top of the gallows. When the floor under Kaiya dropped out, she fell below the crudely constructed stage, but her neck remained intact.

A searing pain burst in America’s shoulder and he yelped. It took a moment before he realized that the soldier had shot him while he released Kaiya.

Poor Addison, who didn’t know about America’s rapid healing or immortality, paled. “Alfred!”

Chaos erupted once Alfred’s opponent broke the stalemate. Another gun fired, Halona’s arrows soared through the air, and Addison rammed his side into the British soldier he was in front of. Despite his shoulder screaming at him, America hurled his knife with deadly accuracy at the throat of his soldier, then clamored over to the opening Kaiya had dropped through. There wasn’t much distance between the stone ground where she sat, gripping her ankle, and him. It must have twisted on the way down, America reasoned.

He extended his hand, shouting, “Kaiya!”

She reached up and grasped him. With his strength, he easily lifted her out.

Addison and his opponent were fighting hand to hand- each had lost their weapon somewhere along the way. Halona had both hands clamped around her soldier’s musket. They were tugging back and forth. Whoever got the gun would win, and America wasn’t willing to risk Halona losing.

Raging, he joined Halona and ripped the gun from the soldier’s hand. He chucked it to the side and punched the man in the face with his extra strength, sending him to the ground, out cold. Time to retreat.

“Addison!” America called.

His comrade glanced up, shoved the soldier back with all his might, and broke into a run, the others following suit.

*************

England had been frozen in shock for too long. The entire battle had gone so fast that he hadn’t had time to react. It was only when he saw America running that he got his bearings. He couldn’t let him get away again.

Howe had gone back as soon as the rain started, so there was no one to talk sense into him when he took off after them.

*************

America pressed one hand over his bleeding shoulder while he ran. Kaiya and Halona were nearby, though Kaiya was losing strength with the heavy manacles on her wrists and was limping thanks to her rolled ankle. Halona, with her bow slung over her back, was pulling her along. Hopefully, that would be enough.

As for Addison, he appeared unharmed, though he was also the only one besides Kaiya that was unarmed.

“America!” Someone called. He knew that voice.

He glanced back to see England running after them. His blood boiled. How dare he? How dare he stand around at Kaiya’s execution, do nothing, and then try to stop them?

With that thought, he put twice the effort into their escape, propelling himself forward as fast as he could go. The American line was close. Addison’s friends had all volunteered to take watch at the various points in advance, aware that this was about to go down. They couldn’t afford to be held up at any checkpoints.

His heart pounded as they started going uphill. This would be the most trying part of their run. Halona took Kaiya faster, nearly making her trip. America was in the very back of the group since he still had an accessible weapon, ready to cover them if need be.

The siege lines were within sight when someone caught America’s elbow and yanked him back- hard. America lost his footing momentarily, but not long enough to prevent him from whipping out his pistol and pressing it against his attacker’s forehead.

Immediately, he was met with blazing green eyes, eyes that made him freeze. Had he not seen their color, he’d have instinctually pulled the trigger, unaware of who had him in their grip. England was very lucky, and the fear on his face said he knew it.

He raised his other hand in surrender and gasped for breath. “America, please, I have to talk to you.”

America’s arm was still in England’s hand. He tried to take it back, but England’s grip was like iron. America scowled. “Let me go.”

“Not until you listen to me.”

“I said, let me _go!”_ He jerked his arm back, but England didn’t let up.

“If not now, tell me a time and place. I’ll be there. I love you, America. I want to fix this.”

His scowl turned into a snarl. “How dare you ask me to give you a second chance after what you’ve done!”

Despite knowing who he was up against and both being fully aware that he could never shoot him, America didn’t lower his weapon. If England wasn’t going to release him, he would make sure he had to feel the cool metal barrel of a gun pressed against his head.

“The acts were bad, I know, but I won’t give up until they’re gone. Please, love-”

“Don’t call me that,” America spat.

England’s eyes clouded over with confusion and heartbreak. America had always adored when England used the affectionate nickname. “What?”

“You lost that privilege when you decided to watch Kaiya die. Did you think I didn’t see you standing in the alley? Why were you back there? So that when Kaiya looked out at the crowd before she was murdered, you wouldn’t have to look her in the eyes, so she wouldn’t know you were compliant in her death?”

“It wasn’t like that!” England defended, suddenly understanding the miscommunication.

In England’s moment of shock and weakness, America wrenched his arm away, hissing, “Save it for someone who cares.”

He turned and ran after his friends, who were far in the distance. Somehow, his legs pumped even faster than before, virtually flying across the muddy ground and leaving England behind.

“The 30th, woods, midnight!” England screamed after him.

America didn’t look back. If he had, he might have seen the hurt on England’s face or the way he chose not to pursue America, knowing that it would only upset him more. He may have even seen when England slowly started walking back toward Boston, drenched from head to toe and missing part of his heart.

*************

“You can’t just _not_ get it checked out by a doctor!” Addison exclaimed. “It’s a gunshot, Alfred!”

“I’m fine. Seriously.” He said, pressing the bundled washcloth harder on his wound. “Kaiya and Halona can cut it out.”

Halona, who was kneeling in front of the chair Kaiya sat in, clasping her wife’s hands, rolled her eyes. Somehow, she still managed to look tough while softly rubbing her thumbs over Kaiya’s palms. “Just tell him so that he can stop worrying, and you can get Kaiya out of these chains.”

“Tell me what?” Addison demanded, looking back and forth between them. “Come on, what is it? I nearly died to rescue your friend, the least you can do is let me know what’s going on.”

He had a point. America sighed. “Okay, but you can’t laugh before I prove it to you. I’m sick of people not believing me at first and thinking it’s a joke. Got it?”

“Got it…?” Addison repeated, more of a question than an answer.

“Have you ever heard those myths about beings that personify kingdoms, empires, colonies, and whatnot?”

“Yeah. What about them?”

“They’re not myths. My name is America, not Alfred. I embody the thirteen colonies here, which means that a gunshot from a human isn’t going to kill me and it’ll heal in, like, a week.”

Addison blinked at him. “Oh. Cool.”

“Cool? That’s it? No, ‘Alfred that’s stupid’ or ‘No, you’re not, tell me the truth’?”

He shrugged. “You don’t seem like you’re lying, so I believe you. This means you have super strength, don’t you? That’s how you got Kayla-”

“-Kaiya.” she corrected.

“Right, _Kaiya_ out of that hole?”

America nodded. He appreciated the change of pace when it came to revealing his identity. “Which is why I can also help her get free. Come here, Kaiya.”

She stood and shuffled over to America, offering up her wrists. He set the washcloth down and took hold of one manacle. With a sharp tug, it snapped in two.

“That didn’t hurt, did it?”

“No.”

“Good.” He repeated the action to break the other one and watched the iron shackles fall to the floor.

Kaiya smiled. “Thanks, ‘Mer. Thanks to all of you, actually. I thought I was a goner.”

Halona hugged her tightly around the waist. “As if I’d ever abandon you.”

Addison butted in again. “Al- I mean, America- When we were running, I looked back at the top of the hill because I didn’t hear you. When I did, I saw some guy holding you back. Who was he?”

“England,” America answered softly.

“England was there?” Halona asked. “I didn’t see him.”

“Me neither,” Kaiya pitched in.

America nodded sadly. “I saw him when we were at the gallows. He was kind of back in an alley. Then, he chased us.”

Kaiya fell quiet. “He was at my execution?”

“Yes.”

Now it was Halona’s turn to be angry. “You’re kidding, right? God, that son of a bitch. I’m going to kill him. I’m going to rip his head off his _fucking_ shoulders and-”

Her wife soothed her by squeezing her hand. “Halona, we don’t know the full story. Who knows? Maybe he just arrived when America saw him. We can’t make any assumptions.”

“Like hell we can’t! That dickhead didn’t help us at all! And he didn’t do anything during your trial, either!”

“Perhaps he didn’t know about it. It’s alright, ‘Lona. I got out unhurt. The soldiers took me back to Boston and threw me right in jail. They didn’t even beat me up. All’s well that ends well. I feel terrible that you got hurt for me, though.”

Halona waved it off. “My head is fine. The physician gave me some kind of bad-tasting stuff and told me to rest; that was the end of it. It doesn’t bother me.”

America chimed in to agree, “Yeah, and my shoulder will be fine in just a couple of days.”

“I’ve got some bumps and bruises, but it’s not like I’m severely injured,” Addison added. “Besides, you seem nice and like you didn’t deserve to get hung, so it was worth it.”

“Thanks. I feel really lucky. That rain was a miracle. Maybe the Great Spirit is watching out for me.”

Addison squinted at America, deep in thought. “So, America, what does getting shot mean? Is something bad going to happen to the colonies?”

“Probably not. It takes a lot for an injury on a personification to hurt the land. Things are much more sensitive in reverse.”

“Huh.”

America smiled at Halona. “Well, it’s probably time to get this out.”

She nodded and drew a thin knife from her belt. “Kaiya, can you move all that clutter off the table?”

Obediently, Kaiya carried papers and miscellaneous items over to America’s bed. “Where are your belts, America?”

“That chest there,” He got off the ground and went over to the table, sitting down on it while Halona tied her hair back with a ribbon.

“Will you need any help?” Addison offered.

She shook her head. “No. Go to your cabin and get into some dry clothes. You’ve earned it, and if you stay wet too long, you’ll catch a cold.”

“Sounds perfect to me. I’ll see y’all tomorrow.” He waved and ducked out of the cabin, leaving them in private.

“You should get changed first,” America realized. “You’re both messes.”

“But your shoulder is-”

“It can wait for another couple of minutes. Go ahead, get in a new dress, brush your hair, all that. Especially you, Kaiya. You haven’t changed since they took you away.”

Kaiya set the belt down on the table. “Thanks, America.”

Halona got clothes for them both. While he mostly had good intentions behind having Halona fix herself before tending to his bullet wound, he also realized that she’d probably be more focused if damp skirts weren’t obnoxiously clinging to her legs.

“Your turn. This will probably hurt a little,” Halona warned before gently sliding his sopping coat off and tossing it aside. Her hands moved to his neck and untied his cravat. Each movement was quick and clean with surgical precision, not jostling him around. In fact, the disrobing didn’t cause him any discomfort until she was undoing the buttons to his waistcoat.

His breath hitched when she removed it. “Ow.”

“Sorry.” Carefully, she took her knife and sliced through the middle of his shirt from top to bottom. “Sweetheart, can you help me for a second?”

“Sure. What do you need me to do?” Kaiya asked.

“I’m going to take off the shirt, but I need someone to move the other side at the same time so that it’ll be smoother.”

Kaiya nodded and grabbed the fabric beside the intact shoulder. “Okay. Whenever you’re ready.” 

“Three, two, one.” Halona peeled the cotton material, sticky with half-dried blood that wanted to cling onto his wound. It was much less painful than he expected with Kaiya aiding her, but it was far from over. “Do you want to switch to new clothes before or after I get the bullet out?”

“Before would probably be easier.”

“Do you need help?”

He nodded, embarrassment written all over his face. “It’s difficult when you’ve got a bullet in your shoulder.”

Halona laughed and knelt to unbuckle his shoes. “If it makes you feel more comfortable, I’ve never been able to see a man as anything more than a friend.”

“Oh?”

She guided his foot out of each shoe and kept talking to distract him and make him feel less awkward. Kaiya went to sit down on her bed, cracking open a book.

“Yeah,” Halona answered. “How about you? Has it always been men?”

“No. I think men and women are both attractive, although I’ve only ever had a relationship with England.”

“I understand. Stand for a second.” She tugged down his breeches before stating, “You can sit back down. Kaiya is the only person I’ve ever loved. I’m not the only one _she’s_ ever courted, though.”

Behind him, from the bed, Kaiya groaned. “Halona! I’m sorry, okay?”

She laughed while discarding America’s garters and stockings, leaving him shivering in nothing. “Kaiya, can you get him some fresh clothes?”

“Already ahead of it.” She plopped a stack of garments on the table beside America.

He craned his neck to see Kaiya, but the position of him and the bed she flopped onto made it impossible. “Who else did you love, Kaiya?”

“I didn’t love him, and it only lasted for a week.”

“Okay, then who did you court for a week?”

Halona got him back into breeches, making him much more at ease. “You’re going to love this story.”

“Well, it was a long time ago. I’ve always loved Halona, but at the time, I wasn’t sure I wanted to. It would mean I couldn’t have children, which was a dream of mine. I’d felt attraction toward men, too, so I thought I could distract myself with a sort of Halona-substitute.”

“That sounds unhealthy.”

“It was. I was an idiot.”

Halona set America’s shoes to the side to dry. Her tone was teasing and sickeningly sweet when she said, “Tell him who it was, honey.”

She groaned again. “Let me preface this with the fact that I know it was a bad idea, and I regret it.”

“Who was it?” America interrogated, itching with curiosity.

For a moment, she debated not telling him, but when she saw how it was distracting him from his shoulder, she sighed and mumbled, “Rastawehserondah.”

“Who?”

“Halona’s brother.”

America gasped. “You didn’t!”

“I did, unfortunately. I realized pretty quickly that the only person I wanted was Halona, though, so I guess it was worth it. Plus, ‘Lona got really jealous.”

Halona frowned. “The love of my life was with my little brother. Yeah, I was jealous.”

Kaiya smiled, hopped off the bed, and kissed Halona on the cheek. “But I’m all yours now. We’ve even got rings.”

That made Halona’s face go red. “Yep. We’ve got those.”

She laughed at the break in her composure. “Enough about Rastawehserondah and me. You need to get that bullet out.”

“You’re right. Lay down, America.”

He did so, taking a breath to steady himself while Halona cleaned off her knife. He’d been shot three times before, but it didn’t get any easier with experience. “I’m ready.”

“Bite down,” Kaiya said, putting the belt between his teeth. Nervously, he obeyed. Kaiya gave him a reassuring smile and took one of his hands, holding it firmly. “It’ll be over before you know it. I’ve seen her cut out entire arrows in less than a minute.”

Halona flipped the knife around in her hand to hold it properly and examined the injury. “Yeah, this won’t be too bad. Are you ready?”

How could he ever be ready? Still, he nodded and averted his eyes, staring at the cabin’s roof.

The sharp sting knocked the wind out of him and he yelped, tensing his whole body.

“Shhh, hey, America, focus on my voice,” Kaiya murmured. “Look at me.”

His eyes shifted to Kaiya’s, and he made a strangled noise when he felt the knife slip deeper.

“We’re almost done. You’re doing such a good job. It’s okay; it’s almost out.”

The burning in his shoulder subsided, and he glanced down. Halona set the knife down and grabbed the tweezers, but America saw no more because Kaiya titled his head back toward her.

“Just keep looking here. I promise she’s almost finished.”

More pain rocketed through him, and he found himself instinctually jerking, but both girls were ready for him, each catching one of his knees to keep them from flying up and bumping Halona’s arm.

“It’s okay, America. I know it hurts, but-” She stopped. “Done. We’re all done.”

He groaned in relief, the tension seeping out of his body while Kaiya gently took his belt back. “Oh god.”

“You did a great job,” Kaiya assured.

When he released her hand, he saw her wince a bit and rub it with her other one. “Shit, did I hurt you?”

“No, you just have a firm grip. It’s okay.”

“I’m sorry.”

“There’s no need to be. Halona, ready to switch?”

Halona nodded, taking the bloody bullet, tweezers, and knife away to clean off. “He’s all yours.”

Kaiya went to the chest she and Halona shared and got a small container. When she unscrewed the cap, America was overwhelmed with a pleasant, somewhat spicy smell. “Is that rosemary?”

She shook her head. “It’s a mixture my great grandmother invented with yarrow, purple cornflowers, honey, tree peonies, and… Oh, what’s the English word for it? Halona, how do you say _kayuwá·lak?”_

“They call it a goldenrod.”

“Right. Anyway, that’s in it, too.” Kaiya spread the cream over America’s injury with the utmost precision. She was wiping her hand on a rag when General Washington barged into the cabin.

“Alfred! There you are! I heard you were shot!” He fretted, going right over to him to analyze the puncture in his body.

“It’s okay, sir; they know who I am. Did I ever introduce you?”

“This is hardly the time for introductions, son. Are you okay?” His forehead was drawn tight while he examined America for other injuries.

“I’m fine. I’ll be good as new in a week at most.”

“But I’m sure it hurts.”

He attempted a nonchalant shrug, but he just ended up making it worse and wincing. “I’m good. Don’t worry about it. Kaiya and Halona are good doctors.”

Washington looked at the two girls. Kaiya had ceased her activities, waiting patiently to dress America’s wound, but Halona wiped the blood off her knife calmly, not intimidated by the general’s presence.

“Nice to meet you,” He greeted. “I’m General Washington.”

“No shit,” Halona said.

Kaiya smacked her arm, but Washington just laughed. “You must be Halona, then?”

“That’s me.”

“And so that would make this your lovely wife, Kaiya. It’s a pleasure.” He said politely, giving a slight bow of respect.

“Right again,” Halona remarked. “Oh, and it’s nice to meet you, too. If you ever need a bullet cut out of your shoulder, let me know.”

He laughed again. “I will. You can return to your work, Kaiya. But you, America, need to tell me everything that happened.”

America grinned sheepishly. “Haha, yeah…”


	26. The Meeting

“There was never a good war or a bad peace.” -Benjamin Franklin

20 November 1775

Prussia and Ludwig,

It is with a heavy heart that I write to you. You may have heard about the difficulties that I have been facing when it comes to my colonies in the New World, America. His people are rebelling, and I need to sedate them before this gets too out of hand.

I humbly ask for assistance in this task via manpower. His majesty is much inclined to compensate you handsomely. With such disciplined and successful armies, I have no doubt that we would be able to put down these so-called revolutionaries.

You see, I demobilized after the war with France to maintain my Navy, which, as you know, is the strongest in the world. To have such a force as an ally may serve you well in the future, and Ludwig, I am sure your princes would be interested in such an offer.

I’d be happy to discuss this more with you if you’d like to arrange a time and place to meet. However, since I am overseas, I would have to send a proxy. I wish you well.

Best regards,

England

*************

“That sounds like a terrible idea,” Prussia said plainly.

Ludwig sighed. “I need the money. Ever since Holy Rome began fading, I’ve been scrambling to take care of his empire, and no matter what I do, it’s rapidly falling apart. As much as I hate to say it, I think I have to accept his offer.”

Prussia threw up his arms in exasperation. “He’s England! He’s a total asshole. And besides, I don’t think we know the full story.”

“And by that you mean…?”

“Well, surely you know England’s in love with that colony of his. They’ve been together for over a century, which means that whole war is personal, and I don’t want to get mixed up in his stupid, emotional messes.”

“Maybe he and his colony are fine and it’s just an issue between their people.”

He leaned against the wall haughtily. “Maybe. But I’ve barely even heard of British America. I don’t like fighting with people I don’t like, and I don’t like fighting against enemies I know nothing about even more.”

“Your armies are incredible. You could do it even if your opponent were a complete mystery.”

That made Prussia straighten a little. His ego was always the way to his heart. “I know. But it doesn’t mean I’d enjoy it.”

“Look, Prussia, we have to do better. Holy Rome is fading fast, and all of his principalities, counties, and other subdivisions are gone. If you honestly think I can turn down England, go upstairs and see how he’s doing. But maybe, with enough money given to the princes, he’ll stop fading.”

The anger faded from Prussia’s face. “Brother, I don’t know if we’ll ever be able to stop it. He’s so weak. We have to face the fact that maybe we can’t save him.”

“I have to try,” Ludwig whispered. Then, “You know, for most of my life, I never understood why I manifested. Holy Rome tried to help me find my calling, but I had no land. Hell, I technically don’t even have a real name; I just use Ludwig because it keeps my identity secret when we’re in public, and it’s the only one I’ve got. For a long time, I found solace in the fact that you didn’t have any land, either. But then your kingdom was founded, and I was the only son of Germania that was useless. I used to think, ‘what’s a personification without something to personify?’ Now, we know what’s going to happen. With Holy Rome dying, it’s likely that, somehow, I will take his place. That’s my purpose. But I hate it, Prussia. So, maybe saving Holy Rome can be my new purpose.”

“That’s not how personifications work.”

“Well, what if I didn’t try? Then, I would have to live with the fact that maybe my inaction cost my brother his life. I’m renting troops to England.” He said it with such finality that Prussia knew there was no arguing.

“Do so, then. But my empire is still rising, and I won’t help a pretentious prick like England. In fact, I want to know more about British America.”

Ludwig groaned. “Prussia, please don’t.”

“It’s not like I’ll send him troops. I don’t want to fight you. But I think we may have found England’s weakness, brother.”

*************

22 December 1775

England,

I’m pleased to inform you that I can provide you with 34,000 soldiers. Eighteen thousand will be drawn from the Principality of Hesse-Kassel. The remaining are from places like Anhalt-Zerbst, Ansbach-Bayreuth, Brunswick, Hannover, Hesse-Hanau, and Waldeck. It will be a while before we are ready to send them, though. The earliest they could arrive in the New World is in August. I’m sorry for this delay and any inconvenience it may cause you.

Unfortunately, Prussia has decided not to accept your offer. There’s a chance he’ll come around, though.

I am looking forward to our partnership, as well as a long and prosperous alliance after we’ve dealt with the American situation. I wish you and your king good health and fortune.

Sincerely,

Ludwig

*************

Kaiya extended her arms and presented a package wrapped in cloth. “Merry Christmas, America!”

He took the parcel from her and eagerly unwrapped it. Inside was a beautiful copy of Don Quixote, the same book he had fallen in love with after Halona recommended it to him and that he had talked to Kaiya about during the dinner party when they met for the first time. “Oh my god! It’s lovely! Thank you!”

“Your turn next!” Kaiya exclaimed, practically bouncing over to her wife. “Here, ‘Lona.”

She eased the package out of Kaiya’s hands and slowly folded back the coverings to reveal a cornhusk doll. Her jaw dropped, and she gasped. “Kaiya, you didn’t!”

“Merry Christmas,” She said, pecking Halona’s cheek.

“I… I can’t believe you found it.”

“What is it?” America asked.

“A doll. When we were kids, Kaiya and I used to play with these two dolls all the time. Earlier this year, after we left Boston and stayed with our family, I lost it. I searched the village high and low, but I couldn’t find it, so I was really upset. Where was it?”

“Deganawidah had it,” Kaiya said, referencing Halona’s youngest sibling. “The day we were leaving, I saw him playing with it, so I convinced him to trade me the doll for my bed while I was gone since it was so much bigger.”

Halona laughed. “That little shit. Thank you so much.”

“No problem.”

“Okay, my turn to give gifts!” America announced, passing them each a small pouch. Inside were earrings, green for Halona and amber for Kaiya so that they matched their eyes.

When it was Halona’s turn, she gave Kaiya a package of sweets because she had been complaining about the lack of flavor in their diet for weeks. America received a shiny rock, so at first, he faked enthusiasm until she burst out laughing and told him it was a prank. His real gift was a deck of cards because he left his in Boston, so he was often bored and talked about how much he wanted a new set.

America swapped presents with Addison, too (he received a new knife and gave a large waterskin), and even with Robert Jenkins (who gave him a new quill and received stationary).

Someone he wasn’t expecting to get a gift from was the Commander in Chief. When America went into his cabin for their daily meeting, Washington handed him a pristine blue coat with shiny gold buttons, white trim, a stiff collar, and perfectly stitched hems.

“What’s this?” He asked, hesitant to even touch such a nice piece of clothing when it was handed to him.

“It’s to mark your position. I can’t have my right-hand man walking around in the clothing of a common soldier. I want to distinguish you. Merry Christmas, America.”

His eyes widened. “Oh! I’m so sorry, sir! I didn’t expect us to exchange gifts, so I don’t have a present for you!”

Washington waved it off. “Not to worry, son. Sit down. We have much to discuss.”

America tugged the coat on and obeyed, taking the chair beside Washington at the table. It had been years since he wore a military jacket. The last one he’d been clad in had been scarlet when he fought France and Canada. This one, though, was a symbol of his own armies: armies that didn’t ultimately belong to England. It wasn’t hard for America to determine that he liked it much more than the red jacket that was still locked in a chest in his storage room in Boston. It fit better, too.

“What’s going on, sir?”

“First thing’s first. Colonel William Thompson captured some loyalists in South Carolina and a militia on the 22nd, but his troops have been greatly delayed by snow. As for General Knox, he has passed Fort Ticonderoga. They’re even more delayed. Their cannons keep falling into the rivers they cross, and they are trapezing through more snow than should be allowed to exist on the ground at once. Luckily, he hasn’t lost any of the cannons yet- he’s retrieved every single one that fell through the ice.”

“How about us? How are we doing?”

“Poorly. We’re losing more soldiers every day to desertion, and we have six days until their enlistments expire. We’ll have to make more decisions once we know how many soldiers we have. Until then, we can only hope.”

America nodded. “How about our smallpox? Any better?”

“No. We’ve moved all of the infected men to a hospital away from the camp because of all the stigma surrounding inoculation. The English have it worse than us, though. Contained in that city without food or heat, stuck with smallpox and scurvy, their deserters are going faster than ours.”

“Do you think they’ll surrender soon?”

“I’m not sure. Howe is difficult to predict; I don’t know how committed to inaction he is. I was thinking…” He kept talking, but America’s mind drifted away from battle and back to what had been weighing on him since Kaiya’s rescue.

‘The 30th, woods, midnight.’ England’s voice echoed in his mind. Should he go? If he went, it could be a trap. What if it wasn’t England waiting for him? What if it was a band of soldiers?

Should he tell the general? He may give good insight. Or he may want to use it as a trap for England instead. What if America told him no and he went behind his back anyway? What if Washington staged something to hurt England? As much as he cared about his Commander in Chief and as close as they’d become, he’d only known him for less than a year. Could he trust him with England’s safety?

No, he wouldn’t put England’s life in anyone else’s hands. It’d be best to keep it to himself.

Oh, England. That brought back memories of past Christmases, especially the one he spent with him, Canada, and the girls. America made everyone warm apple cider, Canada whipped up a batch of pancakes with Kaiya, and everything was so perfect. God, how he wished those days were still here, days when he could kiss England under the mistletoe and cuddle by the fire with him. He should have treasured those days more before they were gone.

“...And then we could possibly get reinforcements. What do you think?”

America blinked, snapping back to reality. He hadn’t heard a word Washington said for the past fifteen minutes. “Sounds great.”

“I’m glad you approve. I think I’ll leave a lot of it up to you. You’d be more convincing than me, a stranger.”

“Totally.”

“You should probably mention Canada. Maybe that could persuade him. If not, then at the least we’ve planted the seed, which could grow further into the war.”

“You bet.”

Washington narrowed his eyes. “You seem distracted. Everything alright?”

America nodded. “Yeah, it’s just Christmas, you know?”

“Fair point. Take the rest of the day off, son. We’ll talk more about this tomorrow.”

“You’re the one that should be resting. It’s your anniversary, too, isn’t it?”

He grinned. “Yes. Martha and I have been married sixteen years today.”

“Sixteen years? Congratulations! Happy anniversary and Merry Christmas, sir.”

“Merry Christmas, America.”

*************

Snow crunched under America’s boots as he crept through the trees. Around him, the woods were eerily quiet. Not even birds could be heard. The darkness was oppressive, too. It felt like it was closing in on him to choke him. He’d never been fond of the dark, but bringing a candle or torch was too risky.

This forest wasn’t very large compared to others, but it was still big enough that he was scared of getting lost. Where was England, anyway? ‘The woods’ wasn’t a very specific location.

Above him, the first quarter of the moon was alight and waxing. It shone down on Massachusetts but did little to help America see where he was going or any people nearby. There was also the chance that England wasn’t even here. It was stupid of him to decide on midnight as a time. Midnight after the 30th or midnight after the 29th when the day changed to the 30th? A terrible oversight, but America just hoped it was the former.

His pulse felt loud in his ears thanks to the silence of the night. He was pretty sure his toes were about to freeze in his boots, his fingers ached, his nose felt like it’d been bitten, and his ears stung from the frosty December wind. Even with his coat and cloak, it was way too cold.

Every tree looked like an angry, black skeleton, and every bush was absorbing shadow. Who knew what could be behind them?

Mittens weren’t enough, so he held his hands in front of his mouth and blew hot air onto them. His breath froze midair, and he couldn’t feel any warmth from it. Damn it.

Just as he was considering turning back, he caught a glimpse of moonlight glinting off golden hair. When he squinted, he could make out England, leaning against a tree, facing away from him, and bundled in his cloak.

Tentatively, he slunk forward until he was just behind England to say, “Hello.”

England flinched and whipped around, hand jerking to his knife, but it was America and, as far as he could tell, only America. His hand fell. “You startled me.”

“Sorry.”

“You look cold.”

“I am. It’s freezing, so what do you want?”

He hesitated. “I, um, I wanted to meet you because I need to ask you what it is that you want from all this. The war, I mean.”

“You’re going to have to be a bit more specific than that.”

“Well, some of your people just want certain acts revoked. Some just want Parliamentary representation. Others are calling for independence. But I want to know what you want.”

“I don’t want you to subject me to intolerable rules and unreasonable taxes.”

“But do you want to leave the Empire? Do you want to leave me?”

America’s heart twisted. “I don’t know. Probably.”

Sadly, he nodded. “Is there anything I can do to change your mind? Anything at all, no matter how outlandish it sounds, just name it. Treat it like it’s hypothetical.”

“I don’t know. The Quartering Act would have to go; there’s no doubt about that. I’d want representatives in Parliament, which you couldn’t ignore once I got them, or that would defeat the purpose. Your soldiers would leave, our courts would have fair trials again, we’d be allowed to move west, and we’d have the freedom to protest things without getting shot in the street.”

“When did that happen?” England asked, suddenly confused.

“1770? The Massacre?” America reminded him with disgust. “How could you forget that?”

England winced. “Oh. Right. Um, anything else?”

“I’m not sure. But it’s not like you can do that.”

“I can try.”

“I still don’t understand why we’re here. You knew nothing would come of that conversation. So what do _you_ want?”

He scratched the back of his neck and pulled his collar in tighter. “I want you. This war would be bad enough if we were still together. But for us to willingly take sides against each other is torture. I could cope with all this fighting if I still woke up next to you, but I don’t. I want to put this all to rest, and more than that, I want to repair our relationship. I love you, America. I know I messed up. But please let me try to right that wrong.”

“You were at Kaiya’s execution.”

“That was a misunderstanding. I knew that someone was being executed, but I didn’t know who. I saw the crowd and went to look. I arrived seconds before you launched your rescue mission and was in shock for a moment. I didn’t expect to see her, and then I saw you and Halona, and the crowd was running everywhere, and I was just frozen. It wasn’t until I saw you leaving that I collected myself. The reason I chased you was to talk to you, not to take Kaiya back. I’m relieved that you saved her, but even if you hadn’t been there, I would have stopped it. Never in a million years would I stand by and watch her die.”

“Oh.”

England slowly stepped forward until he could rest a hand on America’s cheek. Instinctually, America found himself leaning into it. “So, what do you say? Can we give this another shot?”

America studied his eyes for a few moments and found sincerity. “Can you take my side?”

He blinked in confusion. “What?”

“Join me and General Washington and the revolutionaries. Tell your government that they have to treat me better. Leave your red jacket behind and fight with me.”

His other hand clasped America’s, twisting their mittens together. He studied them for a moment, sighing and thumbing a thread that had come loose on America’s. “Darling, you know I can’t do that.”

“Why not?” America asked, jerking out of his grasp. “Why can’t you stand up to them? If you cared about my wellbeing, you would.”

“It’s not that simple,” England said, “I’m a prominent figure in British society; I can’t just run off with a bunch of rebels and commit treason.”

“Then you can’t have me, either.”

America tried to walk away, but just like on the hill, England grabbed his arm. “Wait, we can figure out something else!”

“No, we can’t. Goodnight, England.”

“Why isn’t my love enough for you?” England demanded.

He froze, turning back to face him. “What?”

“I don’t have unlimited governmental power, I can’t commit treason, and I’m not able to do everything you want me to do. But why should I? Why can’t you just love me for who I am?”

“I did,” America answered. “I do. But I deserve to be treated better than this.”

“So do I! Do you realize what you’re saying to me? Do you realize what you’re asking of me? You’re trying to make me into someone else.”

“No, I’m trying to be treated like an equal. You’re the one that’s making that a problem. If you don’t want to take my side, fine. You don’t have to, and it’s not like I could or would make you. So go. Run back to General Howe and come up with some genius plan to escape Boston. Maybe you’ll even succeed if all your men don’t die of starvation first.”

England scowled. “That’s _your_ fault! You’re sponsoring privateers to block imported food, which is very selfish, by the way. I get that we’re competing, but starving me is low. I haven’t eaten in three days.”

America’s gaze softened. With a light sigh, he took his arm out of England’s hand and searched his pockets. Deep in one of them was an apple he had been saving for the walk back to camp, but he handed it to England.

When his eyes fell on the fruit, America could hear his stomach growl. It took all of England’s self-control not to wolf it down the moment it was in his hand. His grip on it tightened, and he mumbled, “Thank you.”

“Don’t be prideful. Just eat it.” America said, slumping down under a tree where a small patch of dirt was not covered by snow.

England copied his actions, sitting so close their arms pressed together. He bit into the juicy red apple and nearly moaned. God, it had been so long since he’d had fresh fruit. He scarfed it right down until all that was left was the core, which he tossed into a snowbank.

Calm silence fell over them. The moon was creeping along the sky as the night wore on, but the forest remained the same- tranquil.

“I don’t want to change you,” America said abruptly. “I’m not asking you to alter your personality or anything. I just wish you didn’t put Parliament and work above me. But I guess, at the same time, I shouldn’t be surprised.”

“Why not?”

“I think we were doomed from the day you declared war on France.”

He hummed. “Because you asked me not to?”

“Because your rivalry was more important to you.”

“Don’t you think some good came out of that? You and Canada can see each other all the time now.”

“Canada can’t see France, though.”

England rolled his eyes, grumbling. “Not that you three don’t find loopholes.”

America leaned his head back against the tree, letting his eyelids fall shut. “How long have you known?”

“That you went behind my back and coordinated hosting Canada and France at the same time? I found out the day that you… The day that we split.”

“Ah. You didn’t bring it up.”

“It didn’t feel important once you started talking about the renewal.” He paused. “Was France there when the soldiers were, too?”

He shook his head. “No. That was just the girls, Canada, and me.”

“I’m still sorry about that. I wish I’d known. I wish I could have helped you. None of you deserved that.”

“Neither did any of my people.”

England stared at the snowflakes on his mittens. “I know.”

Another long stretch of silence fell over them until England whispered, “I miss you so much.”

America gingerly took England’s hand in his and tried not to think about cuddling on the couch, playing chess onboard the _Superior,_ sleeping with tangled legs, love letters neatly folded in the box beneath his bed in Boston (god, how he missed that box), and playing the piano side by side.

“I miss you, too.”

*************

Things started to go to shit. The invasion of Quebec failed, one of America’s best soldiers died in the skirmish, a sharpshooting master named Captain Daniel Morgan was captured, and General Benedict Arnold was retreating.

In Virginia, the city of Norfolk was burned and shelled by British soldiers thanks to that bastard Lord Dunmore. America swore that if he ever got his hands on Dunmore, he’d kill him. Sir Henry Clinton (a British general) sent his troops to the Carolinas, too.

After having steady success, he’d lost a large chunk of his army, and the English were starting to gain the upper hand. So for a long time, he was down in the dumps.

January 24th, 1776 brought some light. General Henry Knox finally, after two months of travel, arrived in Cambridge with cannons galore. America almost cried happy tears when he saw them. 

“They’re so beautiful.”

Washington laughed and patted his shoulder. “That they are. Thank you, Henry. I know your journey was perilous.”

His generals wandered off, talking about their lives since they last saw each other. Left behind, America went back to camp. Yesterday, Washington had given him a mission.

Rebel intelligence was scarce. They severely needed spies, but it was dangerous to recruit them because it was impossible to know if you could trust a stranger. Therefore, Washington told him to find someone to be a spy that he knew he could rely on. He thought about Addison for a while. He’d been very successful when it came to infiltrating Boston to find Kaiya. But he’d only known Addison for a little over half of a year. Kaiya had been a contender, too, but Kaiya wasn’t the kind of person that could slit someone’s throat if they caught her in the act of espionage.

But Halona? He’d known Halona for twelve years (much longer than Addison). By human standards, that was a long time, and he’d trust her with his life. And when it came to violence, Halona was never one to back down from a fight. She could get a glint in her eye as sharp as a knife. She was a storm with green eyes, revolution ran in her blood, her fire was uncontrollable, and despite how pretty her hands were, they could rip away life as fast as they could release an arrow. More than anything, though, she was wicked smart, a scarily good liar, and giving up wasn’t in her vocabulary. Halona was born for war.

Getting her away from Kaiya was hard. The two were basically attached to each other, but eventually, he asked Halona to come with him to get firewood, and she agreed. As soon as they were out of ear-shot of the camp, he pitched the idea.

“This is going to sound super crazy, but how would you feel about becoming a patriot spy?”

Halona raised a brow. “That was sudden.”

“Sorry.”

“Would I get paid?”

America faltered. “Would you... _get paid?”_

“Yeah. Living isn’t free, I’ve got shit to do, and I don’t exactly have my shop anymore. Do you know how expensive it is to get some decent books from Cambridge? I’ve read Robinson Crusoe by Daniel Defoe five times in a row, and that book is pretty offensive when talking about non-white people sometimes. And as good as Common Sense is, I can only read Thomas Paine’s rants for so long before wanting some variety. He says your name, like, 50 times in that book.”

“Well, it _is_ about my political situation.”

“Not the point. Do I get money or not?”

“I think so.”

“Do you want me just to spy on people, or is there going to be assassination involved?”

America almost laughed at how calm her expression was. “Just spying for now. I’ll get back to you if I need to get some murders done.”

“Gotcha. Well, I have to talk to Kaiya about it first because if she would feel uncomfortable or worried about it, then I’ll have to say no.”

“Do you think she’ll approve of it?”

Halona shrugged. “Probably. She trusts me to make my own decisions, which I like, but it’s also a bad idea sometimes. I really need her advice, and she’s essentially all of my impulse control.”

“Trust me, I know.”


	27. Dorchester Heights

"The eyes of all our countrymen are now upon us. The fate of unborn millions will now depend, under God, on the courage and conduct of this army... we have therefore to resolve to conquer or die." -George Washington

Washington was pleased. He was looking down at Boston from Dorchester Heights, watching the American cannons under the command of Colonel Knox rip holes in the British Navy. "You were right."

"Seems like it," America said, trying to ignore the headache setting in because of the constant booms.

The general had pitched a plan to rush across the ice and attack Boston back in February, but America didn't like it and had favored the idea of fortifying Dorchester Heights, which hung over the city. After a month of meticulous planning, they distracted Howe's troops by firing on the other side of town so that they didn't notice their soldiers silently building fortifications with timber and moving cannons into place overnight. They took the English high command completely by surprise. They tried to fire back for two hours, but their positioning meant that they didn't make a single dent in the revolutionary forces since they were too far above them.

Washington patted his back proudly. "You did good, son."

A warm, fuzzy feeling swelled inside America's chest. He did good.

*************

"My God, these fellows have done more work in one night than I could make my army do in three months!" General Howe exclaimed.

England was less enthused. "Stop complimenting them. We have to do something. If the rebels keep possession of the heights, you won't be able to keep _one_ of his majesty's ships in the harbor."

"Don't worry, England, I have a plan."

He narrowed his eyes. "Oh? Let's hear it then."

"We enact a full-on assault on the Heights with as many soldiers as we can get. Then, we all charge and take them out. What do you think?"

"Congratulations, General, I think that is, decisively, the worst battle strategy you have ever pitched."

Howe crossed his arms indignantly. "And I'm sure you have a much better idea."

"We're vastly outnumbered and outgunned. We can't hold Boston any longer- we need to withdraw."

"Withdraw? You're joking, right?"

"Evacuation is the only way we're going to make it out of here with a single soldier left. If we don't act, we'll lose everything. Hell, we're already getting our asses kicked, not just here, but down south in North Carolina, Georgia, and the _Bahamas,_ for Christ's sake!"

"We can take them."

"No, we can't. At least if we get out of Boston, there's a chance that we can return and continue to do battle when our whole army isn't sick with smallpox and scurvy or so thin that it's hard to see them from the side."

He huffed. "Well, maybe we wouldn't have had such an issue if you had told me about your little rendezvous with America before it happened."

England rolled his eyes. "This again?"

"If we had captured him then, we could have used him as leverage to force Washington's troops back. We'd say, 'Oh, look, General, we've got your little personification! Now you have to get your troops off Dorchester Heights, or we'll kill him.' And boom! We would have the upper hand again."

"You're impossible sometimes."

"And you're irritating, but we're stuck working together, and in case you've forgotten, I'm the general. I'm in charge of the troops, and I say that we're going to do it my way, are we clear?"

England's eyes were cold. "Crystal."

*************

Snow was whirling around outside the cabin, making the wood shudder when a shivering messenger delivered a letter from inside the besieged city.

Washington took it and dismissed the soldier, unfolding it. "Hmm. It's not addressed to me properly."

"Who's it from?" America asked.

"Some Bostonians."

"Loyalists or patriots?"

"Not sure."

"What's it say?"

"They want me to let the British evacuate without firing on the city."

His ears perked up, and he scuttled over. "They're going to surrender?"

"It appears that way."

"Why?"

Washington chuckled and passed him the letter. "You ask a lot of questions. Here, read it for yourself."

America's eyes raked over the cursive writing as giddiness filled his stomach. "I can't believe it! We've won!"

"Indeed we have. I thought this blizzard was a bad thing, but if it has made them change their minds about leaving Boston, I was mistaken."

He shuffled over to the fireplace, holding out his hands for warmth. "You're amazing, General. You've done the impossible."

"The war isn't over yet, son," Washington reminded him. "But I appreciate it."

"So what are you going to do? Write back to them?"

"Since it wasn't formally addressed, I'm going to reject it, but they achieved their goal. I'm not going to fire on them. As for you and me, we need to talk about your meeting with England."

America winced and grinned sheepishly as he sunk down in a chair in front of the fire. "I know I probably should have told you earlier, but I was worried that you'd want to use it to hurt England or something. I'm sorry."

"It's alright. I understand why you didn't tell me. But I would have respected your wishes, America. Running off behind my back wasn't safe. You could have been captured, and what would I have done then? If they had you as leverage, we wouldn't have succeeded in this siege."

America's eyes dropped, and suddenly he felt like he was a kid again, being scolded by his mother for sneaking toward the colonies. "Am I in trouble?"

Washington would have laughed if America didn't look so guilty. "What? No. Just, next time, tell me. It's okay to be honest with me."

"Thank you." He said meekly.

"You're welcome. But I would like to know what happened if you wouldn't mind."

"Yeah, sure," He replied, eager to please the general. "Basically, he asked me what he could do to have me back. I said he could take my side, but he refused, and then we argued about that. Oh, and apparently, the whole issue with Kaiya's execution was a misunderstanding."

He hadn't filled Washington in on his daring infiltration before it happened in case he told him not to go, just like with the meeting with England. But Washington wasn't mad then, either. His record of not yelling at perfectly-justifiable-yelling-moments was slowly getting America to let his walls come down.

"Did he say anything about their state inside the city?"

"He mentioned that he hadn't eaten in three days, so I think your privateers are succeeding."

Washington nodded thoughtfully. "No wonder they want to evacuate. Well, no use dwelling on it. Good work today, son."

America got up. "Thank you, sir. See you later?"

He nodded in response, and America headed out of the cabin to return to his, which was next door. When he entered, a gale of snowflakes blew through the door as he struggled to shut and bolt it against the wind.

"I hate snow," Addison said. He was reclining in a chair, talking to Kaiya and Halona with River curled up by his feet. His expression was sour as he ran a hand through his messy ginger hair. "I grew up in South Carolina, so whenever it's cold, I just want to punch the sky and bring back the sun."

Kaiya laughed. "That's one approach, I guess. Welcome back, America. How was your meeting with the general?"

"Awesome," He answered, pulling off his wet boots. "The redcoats are going to evacuate!"

"No way!" She gasped. "That's such good news! Oh, 'Lona, we can reopen the bookshop! We can go home! America, you can get Pilgrim back and, oh my god, this is fantastic!"

He couldn't help but laugh at her excitement. "Yeah, and we can get muffins from the Jenkinses again."

"If their bakery and our houses are all still standing," Halona reminded them.

"Awww, don't be a pessimist! This is a cause for celebration!" Kaiya told her, grinning.

Halona gave a small smile back. "Alright. When are they leaving, 'Mer?"

"Not sure, but Washington agreed not to fire on them while they're leaving so that the city won't be leveled."

Kaiya kicked her feet in delight. "Your news just keeps getting better!"

America's eyes shone with the same excitement. "I think we're going to be ok, guys. Maybe there's hope for this war after all."

*************

Ludwig leaned over his brother, who was seated at his desk. "What are you doing?"

"Writing a letter to England."

"England? Why?"

"I've officially decided to cut off economic ties with him."

He laughed for a moment before realizing that Prussia was serious. "Wait, Prussia, that could be terrible for Europe's economy."

"Could. So there's a chance we'll be fine."

"Why would you risk such a thing, especially with Holy Rome in such a poor state?" Ludwig demanded. Their brother spent most days asleep now, only waking once in a while to eat and use the bathroom.

"I've been keeping my eye on his little colony. He seems like a fighter, and I want to help him, even if it has to be indirectly."

Ludwig was baffled. "Brother, that's absurd!"

"No, it's not. I like British America."

"You don't even know him."

"No, but I'm courting Austria, who is Hungary's brother, who is the best friend of Belgium, who is France's sister and France speaks very highly of him."

"That news has passed through four hands already, and it relies on the word of _France._ How can you bet on it?"

Prussia rolled his eyes. "Okay, I also feel like messing with England. I've actually been thinking about talking to British America."

"Why the hell would you do that?"

He shrugged. "Kid's got spirit, I can tell. It wouldn't be a bad thing to be his friend."

Ludwig narrowed his eyes. "You're going to do something stupid, aren't you?"

"No! I can be rational. Let it go, brother. I'm just trying to do what I feel is the right thing to do. England doesn't deserve Prussian goods, anyway."

"If you keep doing this, you'll push the Germanic regions to war. And you know what will happen if war hits the empire. Holy Rome would try to fight when he's too weak, and he'll die."

"That's not certain. What's England going to do? Say, 'I don't like that you're not buying my stuff' and declare war?"

"Yes! He's England! He's a control freak! And he's got the largest empire in history, brother. Strong military or not, you can't just go around provoking superpowers."

"I'm a superpower."

He shook his head and sighed as if he was talking to a child that didn't understand the concept of time-out. "Don't let your ego get in the way of reason."

"It's not."

Ludwig sighed. "If you say so."

*************

In the next month, not much happened. The day after Washington received the letter, the English fired on Nooks Hill for seemingly forever until they exhausted themselves in a last-ditch effort that only took out four Americans. On top of that, the colonists gathered the cannonballs the next morning, gaining 700.

General Howe took all linen goods from the Bostonians, waited for good wind, and set sail for Halifax with his troops and a ton of loyalists, only facing minor harassment from Commodore John Manley at Washington's direction.

The city's seizure was delayed because the British left dummies behind to confuse them, but eventually, they sent in people who had recovered from smallpox since they were immune to scout the city out. After finding no redcoats remaining, determining the risk of infection low, and waiting a while for good measure, they entered the city.

Halona's bookshop and house were fully intact. So was America's home and the Jenkins'. It'd been a close call, though. One of his neighbors' places had been demolished.

British ships that hadn't known any better sailed into Boston harbor and were captured right away, unaware that they waltzed right into enemy hands until it was too late.

They enjoyed their stay with great enthusiasm. There was nothing better than taking a bath in a real tub and rolling back into your own bed at the end of the day. America was relieved that his house didn't show a single trace of British occupation in his absence, too. No one had invaded, no one had destroyed it, and he was safe again, home with Pilgrim in his arms. She wasn't usually very affectionate with him, but she constantly wanted to be held once he came home.

He could have stayed there forever and forgotten about the war if it hadn't been for Washington, who decided to go south to New York. America voiced his opposition, but it fell on deaf ears, and soon he found himself on horseback, glaring at the road ahead and hating his entire life. Pilgrim was back in the arms of the Jenkinses and the girls moved back into their house, meaning that his only friends in camp were Washington, Addison, and Robert Jenkins, only one of which he could talk to about things that weren't considered polite conversation.

Sometimes, he wished he were still in Philadelphia with Dr. Franklin, the Adamses, Hancock, and Silas. God, Silas. It felt like it had been too long since he'd seen him when in reality, he'd seen him last summer. Silas' support was sorely missed, especially in the absence of Kaiya and Canada. He needed someone around to comfort him, but not in the 'it'll-be-alright-buck-up-son' kind of way Washington did.

Once they got to New York, he could have been alone in his tent, but he offered to let Addison bunk with him for company, which he regretted right away. Addison wasn't the quietest roommate, he left his things everywhere, and he wasn't very good at compromising. God forbid Addison wanted to talk when America wanted to sleep because it didn't matter how many times America shushed him, he'd end up breaking the silence with his strong southern accent, asking questions like, 'If you had to eat a live grasshopper or a live spider, which would you choose?'

Since they took turns having the tent to themselves for their daily baths with rags, soap, and buckets of warm water, he sometimes ended up going second and had to wait on Addison for forever.

To make matters worse, he was a catch with New York's women. He had tousled ginger hair that fell over his forehead in swooping locks, steel-gray eyes, strong arms from working at the docks before the war, and this smirk that could tell you, without words, that being with him was an adventure on the most boring of days. It didn't matter that he had a bit of a temper, that he was poor, that he had a pinkie-sized scar beside his left eye, or that he had an insatiable love of rum and danger; his charisma won out over all that.

That meant that all too often, America would be returning to their tent just to find one of Addison's billion neckerchiefs that he owned in every color wrapped around one of the ties that shut their tent's flap. When that happened, he either had to go talk to Washington for a while until they were done, or he had to join the other soldiers around the fire, which he didn't like. Not because he had anything against them, it was just that they acted different when he was around because of his rank and closeness to Washington. Hence, he normally only went with Addison, who was fantastic at making the mood more casual and could make friends with anyone he met.

Now, Addison wasn't _supposed_ to be seeing any New York women, mind you. Washington didn't allow any of his men to leave camp. But since he knew everybody, sentinels let him slip past all the time, and besides, they only really enforced the rule against soldiers they didn't like. On nights when he didn't feel like venturing into the city and wooing the first pretty woman he saw, he'd turn to one of the women that followed the army's movements. Called 'camp followers,' some of them were there to stay with their male family members or husbands, while others were there as part of the war effort: sewing, cooking, nursing, and washing laundry. Some were there for prostitution, which greatly worried Washington. He often talked about his fear of venereal diseases spreading in the camp. Addison, though, never solicited one of them. He was much more interested in seducing the other camp followers and, if he did end up bedding a prostitute, it was never for money because he claimed that any man who had to pay for sex wasn't much of a man at all, and he was charming enough that they were happy to give him a night or two for free. Part of his pride rested in the fact that he never had to spend money to get women to hook up with him.

He was aware of America's relationship with England as well as Kaiya and Halona's marriage, but he didn't mind. While he was only interested in women, he said that good sex was good sex and that as long as all was consensual, they could and should do whatever they wanted.

If he weren't solely attracted to the opposite gender, he'd still have plenty of options. Lots of soldiers' eyes followed his ass when he walked by, and it wasn't uncommon to find soldiers talking about how they wished they could get a piece of it. Addison was something of a sex symbol among the troops and quickly gained a reputation as one of the most desirable people in the Continental Army. He always made the top five when people debated who was the most attractive patriot in their army.

Surprisingly, Washington made the list sometimes, too. Not consistently, but a lot of the older soldiers would attest that he was a catch.

America made almost every time, too, which he only knew because Addison told him (obviously, no one discussed wanting to fornicate with high-ranking military personnel when they were anywhere nearby). Part of him was grossed out by that, but another part was flattered and reminded him that, when he finally got the strength to get over England or if he just needed a good fuck, he had plenty of people at his disposal.

For now, though, he didn't feel like hooking up with anyone. Even a one night stand to relieve tension didn't sound interesting. The only person he'd ever engaged with before was England (he'd decided that Ellis didn't count), and he only felt the occasional urge to copulate with other people at camp, which he could typically satisfy on his own, thinking about England's smooth voice and soft hands while Addison was away doing his drills. Not that he'd ever admit it or act on it. Pursuing England for some sex before going back to his camp was a terrible idea, and being sexually frustrated was no reason to compromise a war, even if the person you wanted was very, very skilled with his fingers, teeth, and tongue.

"America, are you even listening to me?"

He snapped out of his thoughts. "What?"

Washington sighed in agitation. "You should have been. I just told you something of critical importance, and you didn't hear me."

"Sorry."

"Canada wants to meet with you."

America blinked. "Wait, really?"

"Hold on. If you had been paying attention, you would know that it won't be possible. There's too big of a risk that spies will find out if you leave. I'm certain the redcoats have them, and I'm even more certain that they have their eyes on you."

"That's reassuring."

"I'm going to send our new recruit to meet him."

"You mean Halona?"

Earlier that year, Washington had asked America to offer the espionage position to someone he trusted. He ended up picking Halona, who talked it over with Kaiya. Kaiya said that Halona should do what she felt was right and that if she wanted to do it, she should, so Halona had agreed once she'd been offered a good salary (much to Washington's amusement).

"Yes, I think this would be a good first mission for her. It's simple, straightforward, and she already knows her contact. I'll send a messenger to Boston to brief her. She won't be authorized to agree to anything, just to carry the message from Canada to you."

"Got it."

"I'm not sure what it is going to be about. Dr. Benjamin Franklin is there right now, trying to persuade Canadians to join the fray, but I'm not sure how it's going. All I know is that it is very controversial. Perhaps it is about the doctor, but perhaps he knows something about British plans. Do you think England is keeping him informed?"

America shrugged. "If so, only vaguely. He's still a British colony, but England's not dumb enough to trust him when it comes to this."

"Well, either way, Halona will be meeting Canada around midnight next Thursday in Providence. Let's hope it's good news."

*************

Halona slunk down the street silently. She could feel her heartbeat and hear every breath. It was too quiet, and even with all the streetlights extinguished, it was risky to be outside, creeping around like a criminal. Well, she supposed she _was_ a criminal, technically, but a high-caliber one.

The First Baptist Meetinghouse came into view- a dark shadow against the darker sky. Its steeple was jutting up into the air sharply, serving as the perfect beacon as she darted around the back of the building.

Canada was already there, waiting for her. He wrapped his arms around her torso and hugged her so tightly she thought she might crack a rib. "I've missed you so much."

"I've missed you, too," She whispered back, "But you're kind of strangling me."

"Sorry."

"It's fine. I know you were expecting America, but Washington didn't think it would be a good idea for him to go, so he sent me instead."

His eyes widened. "Wait, you're a spy now?"

"Thank you for blurting that information out loud."

"Is Kaiya?"

Halona shook her head. "No. Just me. So we may end up meeting like this again. Speaking of, what did you need to tell America?"

"Four things. One, England's hiring Hessian troops to fight in the war. Ludwig, the personification who is taking care of the Holy Roman Empire, has been conversing with him, and it's all official now. The soldiers will be leaving soon if they haven't already, so he needs to prepare."

Now it was her turn to be surprised. "Are they a skilled army?"

"They're not as good as the Prussians, but yes. They've had strict training. Tell him that he needs to make use of the spirit and patriotism of his men and that guerilla tactics will be his best friend."

"What are the other things?"

He glanced around nervously and dropped his voice even lower. "Second, I've heard rumors that England is sailing back to London. I'm not sure why, exactly, but it probably has something to do with his loss at Boston. Third, ask America to keep fighting for me. I know his generals are considering giving up on taking Quebec, but please ask him to keep trying. England will probably separate us if he wins, and I can't take another hundred years without my brother."

"I will," Halona promised.

"And fourth, things aren't going well for me government-wise. People that lived in New France still feel betrayed by France giving me up and don't like being an English colony. Others are happy with it since it's safer. We're very divided, and I don't think we'll be able to take his side officially. We need to go with the original invasion plan. He'll know what that means."

"Anything else?"

Canada shook his head. "That's all."

"Okay." Halona glanced over her shoulder. "I need to go."

His face fell. "What? So soon?"

"I'm sorry, Canada, but this isn't safe, and if England's getting support from other Europeans, I need to tell America right away."

He sighed. "You have a point. Good luck, Halona."

She gave a small smile of thanks before vanishing into the night.

*************

England ran a hand through his hair, breathing in the fresh, Atlantic air. He could practically taste the salt smell that tumbled through the breeze. Above him, the _Superior's_ sails were full of wind, propelling him east toward home while the June sun shone down.

There was plenty that should have been occupying his mind- the revolutionaries' failed invasion of Quebec three days ago, an ongoing debate in London about which general he was to work beside (if he was allowed to stay in North America at all, that is), and the Hessian troops that were assembling to prepare for war. But every time he tried to work, his mind would drift, so he gave up and decided to get some fresh air.

It was his first day at sea on his voyage back to London, and he was enjoying himself so far. He left his things in the room he always took as soon as he was on board, and tonight, there was to be a celebratory dinner, like always. He hoped they would have pheasant.

As much as he enjoyed trips on the _Superior,_ this was the first one he had taken when he and America weren't a couple, and as the weeks wore on, the lack of things to do to occupy him and distract him from his woes was getting to him.

America haunted him day in and day out. Waking up, he remembered how America always got the sheets all bunched up in his sleep and how he normally became tangled up with him, a mess of arms, legs, and bodies. Dressing, he thought of how America would pull him in by the lapels and kiss him. Eating breakfast, he reminisced about cooking bacon for America and the grin that would spread across his face when he was finished. Writing responses to delegates, he longed for the box under his bed in London that contained every love letter America had ever written to him. Afternoon brought pictures of America clasping his hand and leading him through the outskirts of Boston with a smile brighter than the sun. His eyes were as blue as the sky, and his hair that whipped in the wind was the color of golden wheat in the surrounding fields. Going to sleep, he missed holding America and softly singing ancient lullabies that Britannia or Scotland had sung to him when he was young until America's breathing evened out and his eyelashes stopped fluttering. After that, he would stroke his hair gently and whisper sweet nothings into his ear, even if he knew America couldn't hear him. And if he startled awake from a nightmare, England could kiss away his tears and draw him back to bed with comforting words.

Sometimes England felt like he was dying. His mind was full of 'what if's.

What if the king wanted America punished? What if his colonists were executed? What if he lost the men he looked up to as heroes? What if he was put under strict rules? What if England was forced to imprison him? What if someone hurt him to try to stamp out the fighting spirit that burned inside him? What if they succeeded? What if England wasn't allowed to see him? What if England couldn't help him? What if Howe didn't heed his warnings? What if America suffered at the hands of one of his men? What if he hated England for the rest of his life? What if he was never happy again because he didn't have his freedom?

On the flip side, what if England didn't win? What if America became his own country? What then? What if he was invaded? What if he was taken by France or Spain or Portugal or Russia or any number of world powers that wanted to get their hands on him? What if his people were enslaved? What if he wasn't strong enough to stand on his own? What if his nation collapsed? What if he was too vulnerable without the protection of the British Empire behind him? What if he died? What if he faded? What if he succeeded in taking Canada with him? What if Canada suffered the same fate?

A thousand questions, no answers.

England had to remind himself that despite some colonists wanting independence, many did not. Many just wanted reform. It wasn't like they had officially stated that they were going to break off to be their own country. There was still hope.


	28. When In the Course of Human Events

“We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their creator with certain unalienable rights, that among these are life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness… We, therefore, the representatives of the United States of America… declare that these united colonies are, and of right ought to be free and independent states; that they are Absolved from all Allegiance to the British Crown, and that all political connection between them and the State of Great Britain, is and ought to be totally dissolved” -Thomas Jefferson, the Declaration of Independence

England shuffled his papers to order them as he walked into the Palace of Westminster. After returning to the same building for meetings for hundreds of years, he was numb to the magnificence of its towers, arches, windows, and elaborate carvings. He always found it amusing when he saw new Parliament members looking around in awe on their first days. But he wasn’t observing the delegates today. He had more important things on his mind.

He strutted through the lavish halls that he knew by heart to St. Stephen’s Chapel, where the House of Commons was gathering. The chapel itself was fairly bland. It used to be extravagant, but a series of monarchs had altered it to have oak walls, plain windows, and a lower ceiling for better acoustics. Seating was cramped, and when he reached his spot, he was already feeling irritated. London was the last place he wanted to be when America was still back in New York, starting a civil war, which was the exact topic on the table for the day.

Everyone had different opinions, but they had to come to a decision about what to do about the American colonies. There were extremists on both sides. Those very against the colonies were called Tories, and those that were sympathetic were Whigs. England was what many would call a Moderate, meaning that he didn’t have a strong stance on either side. To be honest, he didn’t know what to do about his colony. Perhaps listening to today’s debates would help him make up his mind.

A Whig spoke first. He was adamant about getting representatives for the American colonies because he believed it would end the whole thing.

“They are not just Americans. They are British citizens, just like you and me. All they’re asking for are the rights they deserve according to the English Bill of Rights!”

“No, sir, they are not just like you and me,” A Tory fired back. “We are Englishmen; they are colonists! America’s sole purpose is to serve England! And we mustn’t let these people start a civil war in our empire!”

Another Tory stood up. “I agree! This rebellion must be quashed. The British American colonies are essential to our empire. They possess a massive percentage of our landmass. We must swiftly cut the head of his rebellion off so that we don’t cause more damage to the body, so to say. Destruction of America wouldn’t be in our best interest.”

“No, we need strong and decisive action. We must crush the Americans under our boots until they are too afraid to ever struggle again!”

A Whig joined in. “Why can’t we just give them a representative?”

“Transportation is impractical. Besides, they already have one! We all represent them!”

“We’re English!”

“So? Does that mean we do not have their best interest at heart?”

“Considering you just said that you want to ‘crush America under our boots,’ I should say not, sir!”

England sighed. This was going to be a long meeting. “Gentlemen, calm yourselves. We cannot make decisions when everyone is yelling.”

The first Tory nodded. “England is correct. Hush, and listen to me. The colonies are like children that must be punished and brought to heel. We will deal with the traitors harshly, and when America is weak and defeated, these rebels will realize how foolishly they have acted. America will come crawling back, submissive, and ready to accept British rule.”

Another rolled his eyes. “These are _Americans_ we’re talking about. They will never realize the idiocracy in their ways, and they are far too proud to admit their wrongs. We need to take a stronger approach. I say we defeat them and execute each and every member of the rebel army by hanging. Their leaders should receive the full punishment that comes with high treason, however.”

“There are thousands in their army!”

“And there will be thousands fewer treasonous, insubordinate subjects when we are done. I see no point of contention in that. Why should we show these people who fired on their own countrymen any mercy?”

A different Tory jumped into the fray. “Execution may be too extreme for such mass numbers. May I suggest public flogging? Thirty lashes each, perhaps?”

“I think we should resort to punishment for the common soldier only if he refuses to repent and swear allegiance to the crown.” A moderate cut in.

Murmurs of agreement rippled throughout the room.

“Well, what about their leaders? Washington, Hancock, the Adamses, Jefferson, Jay, Paine, and so on?”

“Execution, certainly and publicly. It will send a message to any Americans that are considering rising again. The best outcome of this would be to scare the Americans into obedience and deal them a blow that will hurt them enough to prevent further rebellion, but not one hard enough to hinder the economic benefits they supply us with. We still need their crops.”

England’s mind drifted. This part of the debate didn’t directly concern him, and he figured it was a little early to be debating punishment when they hadn’t completed killing the rebellion yet. For that, they’d need to take New York City. The New England colonies were the most disobedient and the most insistent on civil war. Taking New York would cut off the northern colonies from the middle and southern ones. On either side of the city, the rebellion would flounder without its other half, and they would be able to stop the Continental Armies. He needed a strategy for seizing it, though. The colonists wouldn’t give up New York without a fight, so how would he win?

“What about their personification?”

The question jolted England out of his thoughts, and his eyes scanned the room to gauge people’s reactions.

“We could execute him.” One suggested.

“Don’t be absurd,” said another, “if he dies, our colonies will crumble. How will we profit then? Let’s restrain him somewhere. The Tower of London, for example.”

A stout man looked appalled. “You want to lock him up?”

“It’s not like he’d lead a difficult life there. He’d have plenty of food, furniture, clothes, and visitation opportunities. Life in the Tower isn’t much different than the lives we lead.”

“A pretty prison is still a prison.”

A tall delegate interjected. “Excuse me, but are you forgetting that he is a traitor? If anything, he should be dragged to the dungeons, chained to the wall, and left to rot and starve!”

“He’s a high-ranking government official!”

“He’s a traitor! He deserves to suffer!”

England stood up and the room fell quiet. The higher-ups of his government had all been aware of his relationship with America (though it was a taboo topic), and they were also aware that things between them had soured considerably. Tense silence echoed in the chamber until England spoke. “When we win, gentlemen, it will be my responsibility to deal with America. We needn’t debate this any longer.”

An older man narrowed his eyes. “I mean no disrespect, England, but I worry that your history with America will hinder your judgment. His fate should be left up to his majesty, Parliament, and the Prime Minister.”

“America is not his people, and he is not as radical as some of them. He doesn’t deserve to be judged based on the extremists that happen to live in his land. Besides, this is a debate for another day. We haven’t won the war yet, so let’s discuss how to do that in the first place. So, we need to talk about my future across the sea. Am I to stay by General Howe’s side, or have plans changed?”

England recognized the man that spoke next, but he couldn’t put a finger on his name. God, it had been too long since he had been working at home. “We came to a conclusion on that yesterday. Despite the failures he had at Boston, we have decided that General Howe will remain in his post and that you will continue to work alongside him if you wish to return overseas. However, we strongly urge you to remain in London. Having you here to sign off on documents, approve motions, and speak to the king without shipping letters across the Atlantic and back would be much more convenient. With such slow communication, it’s difficult to fulfill our duties.”

“I acknowledge your concerns,” England replied, “But I need to return to the colonies. Howe needs me where the action is. I thank this assembly for its understanding.”

With that, he sat back down in his chair, ready for the meeting to be over. It was silly that he was summoned back to London for such a simple matter to begin with. He felt frustrated by the whole affair and couldn’t wait to board the _Superior_ to go back to his colonies.

He should visit his monarchs before leaving, but King George wasn’t feeling well, and, in all honesty, England didn’t feel like meeting with him, anyway. In his eyes, George was a mediocre king at best. Granted, it was hard to stand out when pitted against the likes of Queen Elizabeth, Henry III, and Edward III.

Though, he supposed he was likely biased about Henry. Back in the relatively early days of his reign, they had been together. Henry was kind, gentle, and strong-willed. England had never had a lover before, so they were each other’s firsts. But eventually, he aged, and their relationship went from a passionate, romantic one to being close friends. England stayed by his side, even when he got sick, and was there, holding his hand, when he succumbed to his mortality.

After Henry, he and France had a few casual encounters, there were a couple of hook-ups with Spain, and he even found his way into bed with Romano once. He didn’t have any serious relationships after Henry until William Shakespeare. Not long after his death, England met America.

America was a friend of his for a while. He quickly found himself falling for the charming, blue-eyed boy with his radiant smile and optimistic personality during that time. Having just had his heart broken, England tried to stop himself from feeling that way for America, but it was simply impossible. How could he not love him?

Then there was that day on the dock in London when America had kissed him. From there, it had just been a whirlwind romance. America stayed with him in his capital most of the time, and things were good until the Seven Years War, or, as America called it, the French and Indian War. The rest was history. Bitter, bitter history.

By the time the meeting was dismissed and he was climbing into a carriage to return him to his home, he had worked himself into a depressed state. The whole ride, he just watched the raindrops slip down the window panes, leaving streaks behind that obscured the view of the grey, melancholy London sky.

*************

America’s heart was thudding in his chest. He’d been sent to Philadelphia by Washington because the Continental Congress had summoned him. He didn’t feel ready, though. He knew what they were doing- they were preparing a document entitled the Declaration of Independence that would officially let England know that they were breaking away from his empire, an idea that he had fully gotten behind in the recent weeks. But he was still scared to sign it. England already knew that he was considering being his own country, but he had never made it official. This would divide them in a way that they hadn't been divided in before. It wasn’t like he _had_ to sign it. There were plenty of revolutionaries not signing- Washington, for example. But to not sign it would betray his ideals, which he simply couldn’t do.

The delegates were seated in the Pennsylvania Statehouse, waiting in anticipation for when the moment of the signing would arrive. America was sitting between John and Samuel Adams, both of whom were determined to put their names down. To do so without any fear whatsoever seemed incredible to America. Even he was scared, and he was _literally_ the Thirteen Colonies. Or, actually, from this day forth, he would be the United States of America. It was a much longer name, one that he liked, but it would be a pain in the ass to use as a signature.

“Ready?” John asked.

He chuckled nervously. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

“Don’t worry, America. We’ve got your back. You’re not going to lose this war, and from this day forward, you will be a free nation.”

That managed to make him smile. “Thanks, John.”

“Don’t mention it.”

America looked around the crowded room. He recognized most of the people there, and he knew some of their names. Thomas Jefferson, the shy, reluctant author of the Declaration, was in the Virginia section. It was too early in the morning for wigs and fancy coats, so his wily ginger hair was pulled back into a low ponytail with only strands falling beside his freckled face.

Dr. Benjamin Franklin was with his fellow Pennsylvanians. He stood up straight, but the telltale signs of age were catching up to him. His light brown hair had faded to blond, and it was likely that it would continue to pale, but there was life in his gray eyes as he watched people enter the hall.

And there were his friends, of course. Besides the Adamses, there was also John Hancock, who was presiding over the meeting because Payton Randolph had passed away. Robert Treat Paine was sitting behind America quietly, hands folded in his lap. Elbridge Gerry was next to him, as pissed off as always.

Silas Deane wasn’t present, though. Earlier in the year, he went to Versailles for some off-the-record negotiations. Thanks to him, the American army had been supplied with thousands of weapons and multiple experienced French officers that wanted to support the cause. As much as he wished he could see Silas, it was what it was, and he was thankful for the work he was doing overseas. It was good for morale and strategy.

Currently, the French were unable to get involved. As much as they wanted to, they didn’t have much money after the Seven Years War, and so they needed reassurance that America could win before getting in the middle of it. Or, really, the king did. King Louis XVI was the current ruler of France. He was a young man with a beautiful wife by the name of Marie Antoinette. France was fond of Marie, who was young, having married at age fourteen, so France felt that it was his duty to look out for her. Louis, on the other hand, he didn’t like. His main complaint about Louis was that he was using so much money when there were a lot of poor people in his kingdom that needed help. The monarchy threw the most lavish of parties, celebrated with massive feasts, and spent the empire’s dwindling funds like nobody’s business instead of dedicating them to charity for the starving people. The peasant class, or third estate, was a growing body that was somewhat dissatisfied, but with an absolute monarchy above them, there wasn’t much they could do besides try to get by in their lives. Due to all this, France perceived Louis as selfish, indecisive, and lazy. Not to mention he still hadn’t had an heir despite being on the throne for two years already.

Having an heir was a big deal in monarchies (especially absolute ones). Without an heir to pass the throne to, your lineage would die out, and the last thing that France needed was another war over who would take the throne next. Assassinations were a dreadful inconvenience, as any personification would tell you.

Some French blamed the hated Austrian Marie Antoinette for the lack of children, but France had confided in America and said that Louis couldn’t consummate the marriage on their wedding night and had yet to do so. The people had a field day with that, and they all had their jokes to make. Some who knew that Louis used to dabble in locksmithing as a hobby before his time as king would jeer and wonder if ‘the locksmith couldn’t find the keyhole.’ Lewd, but such taunts were everywhere, especially once rumors sparked by attendees of the bedding ceremony began circulating. Essentially, the French king’s marriage was a laughingstock to the French nobles and commoners alike.

The crassness of it all was very strange to America. He wasn’t fond of when France discussed his monarchs’ sexual issues because he tended to use a lot of detail. America, originally a Puritan colony, would find himself blushing bright red until France noticed, teased him a bit, and changed the subject. He was very thankful that bedding ceremonies had fallen out of practice in English culture, and he only had witnessed a few traditional royal weddings. There was nothing more awkward than standing next to one’s lover while two other people you didn’t like had sex in the same room.

All that aside, Louis couldn’t afford to make himself more unpopular by entering a revolution that America was destined to lose, so he had to prove himself. France promised him that if he could fend off England’s army long enough, he would convince his pushover king to help him out.

In the meantime, though, they had to settle for crates of gunpowder and boxes of weapons that came through shady ports in rebel hands. Not to say that they weren’t helpful. Down in South Carolina, the colonists had recently had another major success at Sullivan’s Island. Only 12 Americans died and 25 were injured, as opposed to 220 dead and hurt Britons. It was nice not to be terrified to use bullets and gunpowder in case you ran out anymore. They’d won a naval battle, too, near New Jersey. Granted, one of their ships was destroyed, and yes, the Cherokee tribes had decided to take the side of the British, desolating parts of the southern frontier, but America always tried to be a glass-half-full kind of person.

“So, I was thinking,” John said, drawing America back to reality, “I’ve heard amazing things about an up-and-coming musician in Austria- Wolf… something Mozart… I don’t know, he had a long name. Anyway, if we don’t all die, I think we should go there and watch a performance of his. Abigail could come, too, and if you wanted to bring Canada or someone, that could be a lot of fun. Not to mention we could make better ties with Austria while we’re at it.”

America smiled. “That sounds great, John.”

“Hey, am I invited?” Samuel said, feigning being hurt.

John looked him in the eyes. “No.”

Samuel laughed. “Alright, I’ll be sure to pack my good cravat and a wig.”

“You own wigs?” America asked with amusement. “I’ve never seen you wear them.”

He ruffled his fawn hair and grinned, a playful glint in his blue eyes. “How could I cover up my hair when it’s this gorgeous? And you’re one to talk. You never wear wigs, either.”

“For the same reason,” America teased. “But even more so.”

“You’re so funny,” He said, deadpan.

When it was signing time, they all shuffled into a line. America didn’t enjoy waiting, and he continuously shifted his weight between his feet, especially once his knees were feeling stiff. Fifty-six people were signing, not including himself.

One of the delegates, Stephen Hopkins, stepped up. His hand shook as he scrawled his name across it due to age.

“My hand trembles, but my heart does not,” he announced confidently to all of the other men.

Benjamin Harrison, a tall and heavy-set delegate, turned to America’s fellow Massachusetts representative, the skinny, spiteful Elbridge Gerry, and smirked. “When the hanging scene comes to be exhibited, I shall have the advantage over you on account of my size. All will be over with me in a moment, but you will be kicking in the air half an hour before I am gone.”

Elbridge glared at him. “Shut up, Harrison.”

It took a long time before his opportunity to put down his name, following John Adams’ and preceding Robert Treat Paine’s. He took a shaky breath and tried not to think about the sweat dampening his palms when John handed him the quill. His feet felt heavy each time he shuffled them forward.

Sprawled across the table was the Declaration of Independence. The date of its adoption- July 4, 1775, was at the top. Below it was a swirling sentence made with calligraphy that America would never have the patience for: “The Unanimous Declaration of the thirteen united States of America.”

Swallowing his fear and trying not to think about the pain that would be in England’s eyes when he read it, he put his name down, the entire thing.

There, nestled between his fellow Massachusetts delegates, was The United States of America.

*************

Four days later, the Declaration of Independence was read aloud with the State House Bell ringing out to accompany Congress’s bold words. It was printed in every newspaper in the colonies, and a copy was on its way to London for Parliament and King George himself. There was no turning back now.

New York City saw its statue of the king torn down and melted to make thousands of bullets intended to find their way into the bodies of loyalists. It was deliciously bitter irony to the patriots, some of whom fought a winning battle down in South Carolina’s Fort Lindley against redcoats and their new allies, the Cherokee natives.

July saw little action, but on the first day of August, patriots were ambushed by Cherokee. A mounted charge saved them, but it was a close call, and the day after that, more signatures were added to the Declaration of Independence.

Cherokee natives were proving to be a significant problem for the southern theater. They were skilled warriors, even if they hadn’t won a battle yet. Their involvement sparked talk of recruiting tribes for the Continentals. Notably, the Iroquois confederacy that was composed of the Oneida, Cayuga, Mohawk, Onondaga, Seneca, and Tuscarora tribes. The Cherokee were their enemies, so many Americans had high hopes that they would form an alliance. Halona once remarked that if the tribes got involved, she could sway the Oneida to his side, but he couldn’t bank on that. For now, though, the Iroquois were still neutral.

North, a militia called the Green Mountain Boys, who had helped with the invasion of Canada and triumphantly beat back the English, was beginning to falter in their loyalties. There’d been rumors of an area of land near New York and New Hampshire turning back to the crown, too. America sincerely hoped that wasn’t true. The colonies needed a united front. To be divided weakened them.

Across the sea, things were turbulent. Word about the Declaration of Independence had already arrived. London learned that the document was being drafted and, considering the lag in information, was likely already complete, full of signatures, and on a boat bound for their drizzly capital.

Some English found it inspiring. Men and women alike questioned their government and were curious about what would happen next. Others were appalled that their colonists had taken such a drastic step.

Parliament was, as expected, outraged. They screamed about it the entire meeting, and it only got worse when one of the members presented evidence that the French may be making off-the-record negotiations with the Americans. It wasn’t enough to fully confirm it, but anyone with a lick of common sense could see that France was sending support to the revolution (because that was what it was, now- a revolution, not a civil war).

America wanted to be his own country. There was no way around it, and England was looking the ugly truth in the face. Throughout the entire meeting, he had bit his tongue and done his best not to let himself be too upset, but he was exhausted by the time his carriage dropped him off and he stumbled inside, back pressed against the closed door.

He stared numbly at his house. Everywhere was America. In the paintings on the walls, in scratches left on trim from him bumping things into them, in the countless dessert recipes stacked in the cabinets, in his chair at the kitchen table, in his spot on the couch, in his side of the bed…

Emotions were swelling inside of him like a hurricane as his eyes flickered over each mark that America had left on his home.

No. Not anymore. If America wanted to be his own country, if he wanted to be ‘independent,’ if he wanted to leave, then he didn’t deserve to have a place in _England’s_ house.

England’s hands trembled as he picked up one of the framed pictures that Italy had drawn for them and looked at it. In the art, America was hugging England from behind, chin resting on England’s shoulder. They each had broad smiles and shining eyes that Italy had somehow captured between careful, deliberate pencil strokes. It used to make England happy every time he saw it.

Now, he took it and chucked it at the wall, letting it crack and fall to the ground. He dashed to their room, pulling America’s favorite blanket off the bed and throwing it down the stairs. His eyes welled up as he collected the books, papers, doodles, and other belongings of America’s in his arms and threw them down the steps, too.

He gingerly lifted a glass heart paperweight that America had given him for his birthday a few years ago off his desk. It was something he used on a daily basis, and each time he set it on top of his papers, he thought of America. Abruptly, he hurled it at the bricks, letting it shatter on the floor, just like the drawing.

Next, he flung open the closet, dragging out all America’s spare clothes to send down the stairs into a heap with the blanket.

Charging to the pile, he scooped everything up and dumped it onto the dark, empty, lonely London streets. One of Italy’s sketches showing them holding each other landed in a puddle, quickly absorbing water and smudging their faces beyond recognition.

England stormed into the kitchen, collecting American recipes, America’s favorite cup, and the grease he used to make bacon, before throwing them out the door as well. They tumbled after the other items, which would be taken outside of town by the street sweepers to be burned just before the sun rose.

Tears were falling freely now as he swept his arm over the mantle, knocking all the images to the ground with a cry of rage.

“Fine! Fine, fine, _fine!”_ England screamed, not caring if he bothered the neighbors. “Fuck you, America! Fuck you- and fuck France!”

Stinging hatred flooded him, taking over his actions as he smashed more framed illustrations, not even noticing when the sharp fragments sliced through his skin and how his lungs were begging for oxygen between his frantic breaths.

Rushing back upstairs, he yanked open his nightstand, pulling out the box containing every love letter that America ever sent him.

England picked one up and ripped it in two. He tore through the box, crying and shredding the physical remnants of their love, leaving behind nothing but scraps of paper inscribed with tender words that now tasted bitter. He wadded them up and took the box to the foyer so that he could make it join America’s ruined belongings on the street.

His eyes went to the painting that hung over the fireplace, the one that showed them walking together, the one he cherished so much, the one that had always been his favorite.

He pulled it off its hooks and dropped it into the fireplace, letting the flames burn away their interlocked fingers.

“I hope you’re happy, America!” He shouted through choked sobs as if America could hear him, “I don’t need you! Hear me? I don’t need you- or anybody else!”

England’s knees buckled and he crumpled to the floor, shaking and clutching himself for dear life. He was angry. So, so angry- more than he had been in his entire life. But it wasn’t the cold anger that he had toward his enemies. This was hot- scorching hot. It was searing his insides and bursting through him uncontrollably like a wildfire.

“I hate you…” His voice cracked, and he found himself unable to scream anymore. His eyes shut in a feeble effort to block out the destruction, his tears, and the blood dripping off his hands and arms.

Around him, the house was covered in glass shards, tattered paper, memories, and heartbreak.


	29. Battle Pass

"We fight, get beat, rise, and fight again!" -General Nathanael Greene

On one side of the ocean, England was boarding one of the fastest ships in the British Royal Navy two days after destroying his household. On the other side, a scouting party of patriots was ambushed by a Cherokee force seven times larger than themselves and won their fight by forming two rings facing outward. One circle would fire while the other reloaded and then they switched until a rescue party arrived and the natives fled. They burned a nearby Cherokee village and fell back.

In the north, Americans were struck with a sudden jolt of reality when Hessian ships were spotted near Long Island, New York. It didn't take a genius to figure out who hired them, and the colonists were piping mad. The event turned many loyalists into patriots, growing the rebel numbers.

Halona traveled up to New York to see America, determined to provide any strategic ideas she could come up with. Kaiya stayed in Boston to watch over the shop, though.

Three days later, Hessians began to arrive onshore. They were in a sorry state: plagued with dysentery and diarrhea from the voyage and stumbling off their boats weakly. That brought some slight consolation.

But the real action came mid-August. England had only just arrived on Long Island and greeted General Howe when he began telling him about an invasion that was supposed to go into effect that very night.

Their plan, concocted by General Henry Clinton, was kind of crooked, but frankly, England didn't care. America had made his choices when he signed the Declaration of Independence, and now England saw that there would be no reconciliation- all that was left to do was win the war by any means necessary.

An hour before midnight, it began. General Clinton took the lead with General Charles Cornwallis behind him and Howe in the rear. They had 10,000 men with them and the train of people stretched across two miles. England didn't doubt that they would win the battle.

This was going to be the first time he had directly fought in this war. Despite common sense telling him that he should be concerned, he wasn't. All he wanted was to extinguish the rebellion.

They traveled through a place called the Jamaica Pass, an obscure trail that they only knew about because of the loyalist locals who lived on Long Island. It was long, and it was two o'clock in the morning when they stopped at a small building called Howard's Tavern. Howe had most of the men rest outside while he went in, got a drink, and sat on a stool. England took the one next to him, watching as Clinton had three of his soldiers draw their weapons to focus on the barkeep.

"Is there anyone else in the house?" England asked the man, who said his name was William Howard.

He shook his head. "No, sir, it's just me."

England raised a brow and looked at another soldier. "Search the house for any other people and bring them here if you find them."

A couple of minutes later, the soldier was dragging a boy who looked around sixteen down the stairs. He had wide eyes while he tripped over the steps, scrambling for his footing. England smiled at him coldly. "Hello, there. And what might your name be?"

"W- William Howard Jr," He answered.

Howe tutted. "Mr. Howard, you said there was no one else here."

As if with one mind, the three soldiers simultaneously shoved him into the corner of the tavern, never lowering their weapons. England could see the fear in the barkeep's face as he kept glancing at his son, clutched in the soldiers' grips.

"How has your night been, William?" Howe asked, far too familiarly. "Busy?"

"No, sir."

"And during the day? Did you get a lot of customers?"

Howard shook his head warily. "No, sir. It was fairly quiet."

"Ah. That's a shame. Perhaps you'll have better luck later if you're cooperative. It would be a shame for you not to return to your job when you have such good ale, wouldn't you agree?"

He gulped. "Cooperative?"

"I must have someone of you to show me over the Rockaway Path around the pass. We need to get to Battle Pass. Our guides have talked about it, but they don't know how to get there. I'm sure you, being nearby residents, would know the way."

"We belong to the other side, General, and can't serve you against our duty." He said bravely.

Howe laughed. "That is alright; stick to your country, or stick to your principles, but Howard, you are my prisoner and must guide my men over the hill."

"I can't do that, sir, I-"

"Silence. You have no alternative. If you refuse I shall shoot you through the head." Howe said with an eerie smile.

That changed his mind. Howe rallied the men while England bound the two humans' hands, sending them to the front of the westward marching army. The two silently led their masses down the trail, but they came upon five American militia officers within five minutes of leaving.

"Hello?" One called through the dark.

England mustered the best American accent he could, hardening his r's and shouting in response, "Hey there! Been on duty long?"

The man laughed, believing the English to be American forces since it was too dark to see their coats. "That's the understatement of the year."

The five were captured without a single shot fired. When they were tied and on their bellies in the dirt, England crouched in front of them. "Alright, gentlemen. Who else is guarding the pass?" 

"You'll have to kill me before I tell you anything!" One of them roared, thrashing in his binds.

"Just us," Another answered.

The first one gawked. "Ralph!"

"Oh, shut _up,_ Greg, quit acting like you're better than everyone else just because you say patriotic things you don't mean. You're all bark and no bite."

"Are you kidding me? Again? You know, this is why I hate working with you! You're even more stuck up than I am!"

"So you're admitting your ego is inflated?"

"That's not-"

A soldier in the middle groaned. "Guys, we've literally been taken prisoner by redcoats and you're _still_ arguing?"

"No one asked you, Paul!"

"And yet I have to listen to your senseless, stupid, never-ending-"

"Yeah? You wanna go? I'll destroy you!"

The middle one snorted. "While we're tied up?"

"Just you wait, you fat little-"

"Stop, stop!" Clinton interrupted. "Jesus, you're like bickering children. Arthur, get the troops ready to march. We have a long way to go."

England nodded and walked off to get the men on their feet. With the assistance of their captives, they reached the other end of the pass by dawn. Since before midnight, there had been fighting near a building called the Red Lion Inn that was fierce and hot. What their foes didn't know was that it was a diversion to allow England and the other men to get into position, flanking the Americans from the east. In addition, Hessians were below the pass, waiting to attack the Americans on the two hills on either side of it. At nine, Clinton's men fired a pair of cannons to signal the Hessians to begin the attack.

And then the real battle began.

*************

A messenger burst into the headquarters of George Washington, breathless and bent over.

America startled when he entered, but Washington wasn't fazed. "Who are you?"

"A private under General John Sullivan, sir," He answered, referring to the patriot general stationed at Battle Pass. "The attack on Long Island was a diversion, sir! We're completely flanked on the east and there are Hessians to the south!"

"Dammit," Halona swore.

"Sullivan lost 400 men earlier because he sent them to reinforce General Stirling at Long Island, sir. He's trapped between the Hessians and English. General, there's at least 5,000 Hessians and only 1,300 of us."

Washington ran a hand through his hair. "Who exactly is attacking?"

"I recognized General William Howe, sir, and General Henry Clinton. Oh, and Lieutenant General Arthur Kirkland."

"Alright. Dismissed. Return to your general as fast as possible."

"Yes sir," the private said, scurrying off.

It didn't take much thought for America to say, "I'll go."

"No, America, it's too dangerous," Washington said firmly. "And if England's there-"

"With numbers like that, it'll be a massacre. I can't let my people be slaughtered like that. Not to mention that since England has extra strength and can't be killed by humans, it'll be a completely uneven match. He'll rip through them. But I'm a personification, too. I could stop him."

"If you're going, I am, too." Halona declared.

America shook his head. "Absolutely not! You're human!"

"I'm a good warrior, and you aren't in charge of me, America. If I say I'm going, then I'm going, and if you have a problem with it, you'll have to stop me yourself."

He tried to come up with a good response, but he found none.

Washington sighed heavily. "Alright, you two can go. But don't you dare die, hear me?"

"Yes, sir," America answered. He gave a salute and dashed out of the house to get a horse.

He selected a chestnut one and swung up onto it, body thrumming with adrenaline. Beside him, Halona took Eyota and shot him a grin. "Ready to kick some ass?"

America couldn't help but laugh nervously. "You bet."

She gave Eyota a nudge and he took off, charging south as fast as they could go. The wind howled in their ears as the horses ran. Eyota was faster than America's horse, but the difference wasn't too severe.

They flew over the countryside, across the tip of Manhattan until they were sailing over a bridge. Hooves clattered against the wood while they listened for the gunfire. They adjusted their course to be pointed right at the battle and rocketed toward it.

Once in a while, a cannon would boom. Their forces had two cannons at Battle Pass, last he checked, but he was pretty sure England would have brought more than two with him when he planned the ambush. The best he could hope for was that they weren't too severely outgunned as well.

5,000 Hessians. The number echoed in his head, and he glanced at Halona. Bringing her into such an impossible battle was the last thing he wanted to do, but he also knew that she would never take no for an answer. At least this way, she was going with him where he could keep an eye on her rather than sneaking off to the battle later.

The horses tore over a hill and then they were there. Americans were few and far between in the sea of enemy colors, and way too many of them were on the ground. From what he could see, most weren't even shooting at each other anymore. Too many bullets must have been used, he assumed, and now most of the combat was hand-to-hand.

He couldn't help pausing for a moment, but Halona charged right in, drawing a knife from her belt, thundering into the fray to scatter the enemy, and swinging off Eyota to slice open a redcoat's throat, all in one eloquent action. She engaged with a Hessian next and spun circles around him, easily cutting him down and moving to the next.

Yeah, Halona could handle herself, America decided. He had other things to do.

A crack sounded as a bullet lodged itself in his horse's chest, sending both of them tumbling to the ground. As well-coordinated as he could manage, he crawled off his dying horse and punched the man who had just fired as hard as he could.

There was a cracking sound as his fist slammed through the man's jaw, splitting the bones into fragments. Super-strength secrets be damned. He was going to fight as hard as he could.

Another soldier swung his musket at America, bayonet ready to hack his way through his body, but America dodged and tackled him, breaking his neck and pouncing on the next redcoat that challenged him.

The air was thick with the smell of blood and burnt gunpowder. All around him was nothing but death and suffering. If he didn't have so much adrenaline in his system, he might have collapsed from the sights he saw alone.

Some commander was shouting orders in German, and the Hessian soldiers moved in seemingly unexplainable ways. The one America was fighting with rotated their altercation to be on the other side of America. It made no sense until he heard the battle cry behind him.

With a glance over his shoulder, he saw a long line of Hessian soldiers charging with their bayonets outstretched, ready to run through anyone in their path. He was horrified to see Americans drop one by one as they were impaled. Screams were all he could hear- some triumphant, some pained, some scared.

One came at him at full-speed, but America ducked and rolled at the last second. The Hessian stabbed his own countryman that had been facing off with America moments before. He only had seconds to be horrified before America swung his musket like a club and hit him in the head hard enough to knock him out.

Frantically, he looked around. Where was Halona?

For a second, all he felt was terror, but then he spotted her. She'd broken through the charging Hessians somehow and was engaging two at a time to keep them from running with their blades out. He would have been worried if it was anyone else, but Halona was good. She defeated both and drew in another duo to kill.

Out of nowhere, the butt of a gun hit America on the back of the head- hard.

He gasped and stumbled, tripping and ending up on his stomach, face in the dirt. A high-pitched sound was ringing in his ears, but he didn't let go of his rifle. His fist tightened on it as he rolled onto his back and swung it up to block another attack in the nick of time.

The two guns slammed into each other. Under his hands, he felt the wood splinter, but that wasn't what had his attention- that honor belonged to the face of the person that had nearly killed him.

England met his gaze and froze, giving America the chance to shove him and get to his feet. For a moment, neither moved. But when England glanced at the battlefield around him and the countless colonists lying dead on the ground, he made up his mind and swung.

America barely had time to react. He dodged and threw up his weapon to block the attack. But England didn't stop. He pressed onward, attempting hit after hit and putting America on the defensive. He moved away as best as he could, but there was some kind of glint in England's eyes that was burning through him like a wildfire.

They clashed harder and harder until the wood of the gun in America's hands finally broke. He dropped the pieces and scrambled back, assuming that England would end up holding the muzzle at him and that their fight would come to a halt. Perhaps he'd be taken captive or England would demand he surrender.

But America was wrong. England swung again, and America was only a hair away from receiving a laceration on his shoulder from England's bayonet. All he could do was keep trying not to be stabbed. Each time the sharp point came close, he'd dodge. But it only took one little mistake, and when England slashed for the fifth time, America was too slow. The bayonet arced through the air and cut his cheek.

Distracted by the pain, America couldn't fully get away when England went in for another strike. All he could do was throw up an arm to stop the bayonet from reaching his chest. It ripped through his skin easily and he yelped, clutching the gaping wound on his forearm and leaving himself open for another attack that landed in his shoulder. This one was deep, and he cried out, tumbling to the ground again, landing on his back.

Above him, England brandished his weapon, dripping with American blood. He put one boot on America's stomach to hold him in place and raised the bayonet. America's eyes widened as he brought it down.

*************

Halona was starting to get tired. She wasn't sure how long she had been fighting, but she had a cut on her upper arm that ached and only worsened each time she finished off an enemy soldier. 

The battle had turned dirty. With everyone clashing so closely, death was more gruesome and pain more intense. She saw an American be speared through the throat, and before that, she watched a Hessian get clobbered to death with a musket.

Men on both sides were fleeing, each scared of the other. General Sullivan was trying to rally the Continentals for an organized retreat, but the Hessians had overrun the advanced guard, and the American left had utterly fallen. Many surrendered, but she wasn't going to be one of them. After all, she had a shipment of Hamlets coming into the bookshop in two weeks, and she had an excellent idea for the window display that she wanted to enact- she couldn't die here before that.

Unfortunately, things weren't in their favor. While Sullivan successfully got many of his men to Brooklyn Heights, she also saw him be captured out of the corner of her eye before she took down a redcoat that tried to shoot her.

Halona was good at fighting. She wasn't sure how many soldiers she had killed so far with just her dagger, but it was somewhere around ten, which was pretty good if she did say so herself.

A Hessian with a curly mustache swiped his bayonet at her, but she deflected it and wrinkled her nose. "That mustache is terrible."

He faltered. "What?"

"Sucks that you're going to be buried with it," She said in genuine sympathy before slitting his throat and letting him drop to the ground.

Another Hessian took his place, but this one didn't have a repulsive mustache. He got a hit on her elbow and she hissed. "Shit. That's going to be a bitch."

Before he could reply, she stabbed him in the chest and jerked her knife out.

She looked around, surveying her surroundings and preparing for her next opponent when she saw a sight that made her do a double-take. Far to the right, England and America were facing off. America's gun was broken and he was being forced to attempt a stumbling retreat.

Halona started in that direction when a redcoat grabbed her. She growled in frustration, rammed her elbow into his nose, spun around, and pierced his stomach while his hands flew to his face.

Somehow, that didn't take care of him. He kept fighting, which she would have found admirable if she weren't so concerned about the duel she had been trying to reach. He was skilled- he pressed through the pain to give her a run for her money, but she still won.

As soon as she disengaged, she was sprinting across the field. America was hurt and barely getting out of the way of each swipe. He stumbled when he was stabbed in the shoulder and collapsed on the ground, chest heaving as England pinned him beneath his foot.

Halona's heart beat faster and her feet slammed into the ground harder as she propelled herself forward, knife ready, and panic building in her gut. Faster, she had to go faster. A redcoat reached for her to grab her, but she swung at his hand, never slowing, and kept running. Almost there, almost there...

England raised his musket as America froze.

Almost there. Just a little further.

England thrust his weapon toward America's chest.

Halona kicked the bayonet.

Path redirected, it dug into the dirt instead of America's body and Halona slammed her knife into England's side.

He cried out, kneeling and clutching the wound. His gun fell into the mud while Halona brought her knee into his jaw. Something popped, and he shrieked. When their eyes met, she punched him to knock him down the rest of the way before rushing to America's side and helping him get to his feet.

"We have to go," Halona said, trying to lead him away from the battle. "Our forces are retreating!"

"Wait, England is-" He tried.

She shook her head in frustration and dragged him toward the hills. "Come on; we have to leave! We can't stay!"

"He's hurt!" American insisted, using his waning strength to get his wrist out of her grasp.

"America, I swear to god, if you don't march your ass back up that fucking hill, I'll kill you and throw your corpse down a well. We're going."

It was an empty threat. Halona couldn't kill him, but it got its point across. Halona guided him over the crest of the hill, all the way to Eyota, who had retreated from the battle at Halona's command.

She helped America mount as much as she could and coaxed the ebony stallion forward. He galloped away in the American retreat, leaving the Battle of Long Island behind him.

*************

America's first thought was about pain. Everything throbbed, and there was a sharp sensation in his shoulder. Very slowly, he peeled opened his eyes.

Above him was the canvas of a tent. It wasn't his tent, which alarmed him for a moment, but he calmed down when he saw Halona reading on the floor beside the cot he was laying on and Washington pacing anxiously to the side. Raindrops pelted the fabric above them, relaxing him.

"Hey, guys," America said hoarsely.

Both heads snapped in his direction. Washington exclaimed, "Oh, thank god. How are you feeling?"

"Not great," He answered. "But I've had worse."

He breathed a sigh of relief before switching to anger. "What did I tell you? It was too dangerous, and now you're hurt! What if you had died? What would I have done then?"

"Awww, sir, you _do_ care," America said, laughing weakly.

"Christ, son, you scared me."

America looked at Halona, who had discarded her book in favor of perching on the foot of the cot. "Thanks for saving my life."

"Don't mention it."

"Are you okay?"

She pointed to a bandage on her elbow. "Sizable cut here, a couple of scrapes and bruises, probably a minor concussion, but all things considered, not that bad. I'll be fine. You're the one that almost died out there."

"England tried to kill me." His eyes were unfocused as he spoke. He felt disconnected from the words. The events of the battle didn't feel real, more like a distant, bad dream.

"Indeed he did," Washington said gravely.

"What happened? How did the rest of the battle go?"

Washington's expression was hard to read, but his voice was nothing but somber when he explained. "Poorly. The enemy attacked by the Red Lion Inn first as a distraction before starting the assault at Battle Pass. After you retreated from Battle Pass, the Hessians took the area as well as Americans who surrendered or were wounded."

"Where did they send the prisoners?"

"Nowhere. They executed them."

America paused. "I must have misheard you. They surrendered, didn't you say?"

"Yes. And the Hessians bayoneted them."

He made a choked noise. "Oh my god. They didn't."

"They did. Meanwhile, on Long Island, the redcoats pushed us back until we had to make a full retreat. General Stirling had a group of men from Maryland holding off the British and Hessians during the retreat."

"Did it work?"

"For a while, but they were vastly outnumbered. There were around 260 of them. Only four made it back."

America was stunned into silence, but Washington kept going. "As for the rest, the only way out was across a creek, and some of the men couldn't swim. Others got caught in the mud, and eventually, General Stirling was forced to surrender. We escaped behind our fortified positions in Brooklyn Heights- which is where we are now- because we lost Guan Heights. The problem is we're surrounded. Redcoats and Hessians are blocking all land exits. Behind us is the East River, which is in British hands. General Howe is digging in for a siege."

"But if we cross, we can return to Manhattan."

"I know. I'm trying to think of a way to get out, but it's been slow-going."

Not sure he wanted to know the answer, he asked, "How are the numbers looking?"

"Bleak. Far too many are dead, about 800 are hurt, and over a thousand are missing or captured. And I have no idea how we're going to get out of here."

America looked to Halona. "Is Addison okay?"

"I don't know. I looked, but I couldn't find him. He joined Stirling to help him when this all broke out."

His head sunk onto the pillow. "So they captured him."

"Not if he succeeded in the retreat. He used to be a sailor, so he's probably a strong swimmer, meaning that he has a good chance of being here. It's just that things are very disorganized with the armies being mixed up and everyone is freaking out, so figuring shit out hasn't been very effective."

"I have to go find him," America said, propping himself up on his elbows.

Washington gently pushed him back down. "Ah, ah, ah, no. Rest. You aren't going anywhere. Halona, why don't you look around for this Addison fellow and ask people if they've seen him?"

She stood. "Will do. Should I check the prisons, too, in case England is there?"

"Wouldn't he break out if he was here?"

"He's hurt, so maybe he can't. We've only got, like, twenty prisoners. It won't take long. I'll be back soon." She gave a small smile, grabbed a coat off the arm of a chair, and headed out of the tent.

Washington sank into the chair. "So I've been thinking about this weather. Maybe we could use it to our advantage for an escape. What do you think?"

"It's possible that we could make it across the East River. We could send a message to General William Heath to send some boats. Then, we could leave under the cover of darkness and the storm."

Washington snapped and pointed at him. "That's brilliant, America. I'm going to write to him now."

"Don't you have to talk to the other officers?"

"I'll say that the boats are in case the battalions in New Jersey come to reinforce us. If we have the boats already here, the officers are more likely to agree."

"Good idea. The more people on-board with the plan, the smoother it will go. How will we evacuate everyone?"

"We'll tell the troops to gather all of their belongings; that we're moving for a night attack. The sick and wounded will go first. Troops could be pulled from the lines one by one so that the British and Hessians won't suspect anything. We'll have to be quiet, though."

America nodded. "We could muffle wagon wheels by wrapping them in rags and other cloth, and we'll forbid the men from speaking. We could muzzle the horses, too."

"Good plan. Let's write that letter."

Hours later, Washington met with his officers. The majority of them agreed to the plan, so that night, it began.

A Pennsylvania regiment volunteered to take up the rear in case they had to cover the others. They would be the last to cross the mile-long channel if they even got the chance. A Massachusetts Regiment was responsible for ferrying people across and returning to transport another batch.

There were 9,000 troops to take out, and they had only one night to do it, assuming the terrible weather continued to cover them. At the same time, the weather was a hindrance. It made rowing harder and conditions on the water more dangerous. In fact, the river's waves were too unsafe until an hour before midnight, meaning that they lost valuable evacuation time.

The British sentries were close enough to see all of the American defenders if conditions were normal. If the storm calmed, it was all over.

In the distance, at camp, fires were still burning to give the appearance that they were there, tended by the Pennsylvanians that were ready to cover their comrades. They were led by a man named Thomas Mifflin.

Just as planned, the sick and injured went first. Some who were badly hurt had to be gagged so they didn't make too many sounds when they were moved. America hadn't seen Halona since she left the tent, but when he was overseeing the loading, he finally spotted the person she had been looking for.

Addison, knee-deep in the East River, was helping another man lay a soldier in one of the flat-bottomed boats. Aside from a cut on his forehead that scabbed over and a bandage on his upper arm, he didn't seem hurt.

America wanted to call out to Addison and talk to him, but everyone was under strict orders to stay completely silent. The only ones allowed to speak were higher-ranking military personnel like the generals and America, so Addison couldn't respond, anyway. At least America knew he was okay.

Washington had tried to convince him to go with the first batch since he had wounds, but America refused, insisting that he would help keep everything organized. The jumbled army needed as many supervisors as it could get.

Everything was going well until the storm slowed, the sky cleared, and the moon shone down brightly on their activities.

Washington swore under his breath. "America, you need to cross."

He shook his head, whispering, "I'm not leaving. My injuries aren't even that bad. If there's anything you need to be worrying about, it's that the fires at camp have gone out."

"What?" Washington whipped his horse around, looking at the camp. "What the hell is Mifflin doing?"

"Do you want me to ride over there?"

"Not by yourself. Come on."

Each urged their horses in the direction of the camp until they spotted the unit that was supposed to be holding the defenses walking down to the river with their things.

"What are you doing?" Washington hissed at the man in front, who wasn't Mifflin and who looked very alarmed to be selected as the spokesperson.

"Going to the river, sir," He managed.

"Why?"

"Evacuation, sir."

Washington squinted at him. "What do you mean? You're not supposed to evacuate yet."

"Um, I'm sorry, we were told that-"

"Is there a problem here?" Someone interrupted quietly. It was Thomas Mifflin, who had just arrived on the scene.

"Good God. General Mifflin, I am afraid you have ruined us. Why the hell are your men leaving?"

"Major Scammell told me that you were calling for us to be evacuated. I said that must not be true, but he insisted."

He sighed. "Alright. I'm sorry, General, but there has been a mistake. Return to the outer defenses."

"Yes, sir," Mifflin replied, turning to take his troops back.

Washington turned to America. "Go back to the river. I'm going to send over some Marylanders."

America gave a nod of confirmation and steered toward the East River. By the time they got three more regiments across, daybreak was encroaching on them. The men were antsy and worried that they would get left behind. If they were stranded, they'd be destroyed.

The general had returned. He kept a stony expression, but America knew he was worried. The oarsmen needed at least three more hours to finish the evacuation- hours they did not have.

"What do we do?" America asked lowly. "We can't make it."

He grimaced. "We could swim across."

"They'll pick us off like flies if we're in the water."

"What other choice do we have?"

"We could try to make a stand here."

He shook his head. "It won't work. There are way too many of them. We need something to buy us time. I don't know what, though. Pray for a miracle, I suppose."

Fifteen minutes later, their miracle came in the form of dense fog that shielded them from British eyes. Even once the sun crawled over the horizon, the mist remained, covering Brooklyn in a gray haze.

Seizing the opportunity, they worked as fast as possible. Men scampered into boats, oars pumped violently, and the need for silence wasn't as great anymore. Now, they just had to get out of there no matter what. If they failed, they'd surely be taken or killed.

The last of the Pennsylvanians came sprinting toward the river. One of them gasped, "They're coming! They're searching for us right now!"

"Get in the boats," Washington commanded. "You, too, Alfred."

America shook his head. "I won't leave you behind."

"It's not a request. Another boat is almost here, see?" He pointed. "I'll be fine."

"They'll come this way! You won't have enough time!"

"There's one seat left, and it is my job to protect my men as well as the cause. That means that I will be the last one to cross. Now get in the boat, Jones, or I will _make you_ get in the boat."

He didn't move for a second, but he gave in, hopping over the side to begin crossing the river. As they paddled away, he watched Washington stand on the shore, waiting for the final boat to pick him up.

The fog was beginning to disperse. All he could feel was guilt. How could he leave Washington there, vulnerable and open to any attacks? He should have stayed to protect him.

One of the soldiers seemed to recognize the expression, and he smiled. "Don't worry about the general, sir. The man's invincible, pretty much. He'll make it."

"Thanks," America mumbled, but his eyes didn't leave the banks until it was too foggy to see anymore.

In Manhattan, they clamored out of the boats. People were swarming around, looking for friends and brothers. Officers were trying to get their soldiers in order, but it wasn't working very well. As for America, he was waiting at the water's edge for Washington, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

Suddenly, he heard gunshots. All around him, people froze. More shots and something splashed. The fog didn't allow them to see what.

Just when America was starting to think it was over, a boat emerged with Washington in it. Cheers erupted amongst the men. Washington had done the impossible: he got all their supplies, artillery, and 9,000 people through a mile of enemy territory, right under their noses, without a single loss.

Despite losing the battle, his aching injuries, and the fact that England tried to kill him, America smiled.


	30. New York

“I am determined to defend my rights and maintain my freedom or sell my life in the attempt.” -Nathaneal Greene

“What do you mean they’re _gone?”_ General Henry Clinton demanded.

The soldier reporting the recent British loss took a shaky step away from the red-faced general. “They escaped, sir.”

“That’s… That’s impossible! They can’t just be _gone!_ There were, what, eight thousand of them?”

Sheepishly, “Nine thousand, sir.”

“How the hell did you lose track of _nine thousand_ soldiers? Where- I can’t even imagine- how could- where did they _go?”_

“Manhattan, sir. They escaped on boats last night during the storm and under the fog. We fired at them but-”

Clinton held up a hand for silence and took a deep breath, counting to ten in his head to tame his temper. “You saw the last of them leaving? You were _that_ close to them, and you didn’t succeed?”

“Unfortunately, sir.”

“Get out.”

“Yes, sir,” He said, scurrying away as fast as possible, leaving Clinton and England by themselves. 

England spoke first. “Well, I’ve got to hand it to them; it was a good retreat. I’m impressed.”

“Don’t marvel at their success! This is just ridiculous! How- that shouldn’t be possible! We owned the river!”

“About that,” England cut in. “I was thinking, we’ve got a lot of prisoners. We don’t have much space, though. I wanted to kickstart a project to build some prison ships. We could make them right in Wallabout Bay, so we don’t even have to relocate.”

“That’s a good point. There are too many prisoners.”

“Right. So I was looking at a map of the bay,” England began, pointing to one of the maps on the table and getting a quill to mark it. “I thought that-”

“England, stop,” Clinton said.

He blinked in confusion. “What?”

“We need to talk about what happened at Battle Pass.”

Instantly, England’s measured demeanor crumbled. He pressed his lips together tightly and fidgeted with the quill in his hands. “What do you mean?”

“I know you fought America.”

“So? As a personification, it’s not unreasonable to confront another personification on the battlefield. It happens all the time.”

His expression softened. “Look, I know I don’t know you as well as Howe, but Howe is an ass, and you don’t seem to have any other friends here. I also know that you need to talk about it. Tell me what happened.”

England gripped the quill tighter, chewing on his lower lip and looking off to the side so that he didn’t have to meet Clinton's eyes. “I… I don’t know what came over me.”

When he didn’t continue, Howe prompted, “And? What did you do?”

He swallowed dryly and sank into a chair, gaze now glued to the quill. “I almost killed him.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know why!” He shot back. “Until then, I had no idea that I even could! I just- the battle was happening, and I was so determined to shut down the rebellion that I lost myself. I didn’t know it was him at first and then all of a sudden I did and I just didn’t stop. Everything was going my way, and I just keep going and going and-”

England stopped to catch his breath. “And I hurt him. Fuck, his arm and shoulder looked bad. His gun broke, and I shouldn’t have continued, but I did until he was on the ground. God, he looked so scared, and it didn’t even register for me. If it hadn’t been for Halona, I think I would have killed him.”

Clinton nodded thoughtfully. “Do you want to?”

“What?” England asked. “Of course not! I love him! I don’t know what was wrong with me.”

“You probably got caught up in the moment. People kill in crimes of passion sometimes. Perhaps that was what happened to you.”

“I don’t want to,” England whispered. He set the quill on the map and rested his head in his hands. “I didn’t mean to.”

“I know.”

“He’ll never forgive me. I’ll never get him back. It’s over.”

Clinton shrugged and sat back, reclining on his armrest. “You don’t know that for sure. Love makes people do crazy things. Sometimes it’s murder. Sometimes it’s forgiving attempted murder. You never know.”

England laughed bitterly. “Very funny, General.”

“I’m not joking. If you truly love America, things will work out in the end. I promise.”

He lifted his head. “Do you really believe that?”

“Completely. It may take a lot of time, decades, even, but you and America will be together again someday, England. I know it.”

*************

Following the Battle of Long Island, as the recent skirmish had been named, much occurred. Continentals in the south destroyed over thirty Cherokee villages. Washington launched a mission for soldiers in an underwater craft to attach time bombs to the undersides of British ships since they officially occupied New York, but due to operator error, it failed. There was a brief meeting between English and American delegates in Staten Island, but it failed massively, and a hurricane hit Guadeloupe, meaning that France was stressed.

Not as stressed as America was, though. Howe had thousands upon thousands of troops with him, meaning that they were so colossally outnumbered it was almost laughable. Washington’s forces skittered to Harlem Heights and sent out people on reconnaissance missions that failed miserably.

Case in point, the group was spotted, fought, retreated, and drew everyone into another spontaneous battle. Washington decided to split his troops up, lure the British into a trap, and close in around them, which worked well enough, but two high-ranking officials on their side had been wounded.

“This is a mess,” Washington groaned, watching the battle beside America.

“Yeah. Are you sure I can’t join them and fight?”

“You’re still injured.”

“Barely. My arm doesn’t even hurt anymore unless something bumps it. Please, sir? I want to be with them.”

He sighed and patted America’s good shoulder. “Sorry, son, not today.”

America huffed and looked out at the battle through his spyglass. “They seem very disorganized.”

“‘They’ as in our men or the enemy’s?”

“Ours, unfortunately.”

Washington took the spyglass and peered through it. “Shit, you’re right. Go find General Greene and let him know I want to send him in. Tell him to take some other members of my staff, too. They need to rally the men.”

“Yes, sir,” America said, giving a quick salute and scurrying away. Where would Nathanael Greene be?

He wandered around for an uncomfortably long time before he saw a man of average height with auburn hair watching the fight anxiously.

“General Greene!” America called.

Greene turned, brow arching. “America? What is it?”

“General Washington wanted me to tell you to go into the fight and that you could bring other staff members if you wanted. He thinks our troops are too jumbled.”

“Thank god.”

“Will you take me?” America asked eagerly.

Greene chuckled. “Washington doesn’t want you going into battle. Come on. You didn’t think I would fall for that, did you?”

“Please? You know what it’s like to be stuck on the sidelines, unable to join your men, and you know how miserable it is.”

He studied him for a moment, then sighed. “Alright, but you have to be careful, and you’ve got to keep it a secret that I knew you weren’t supposed to be out there.”

“Deal!” America exclaimed, face lighting up. “I’ll go grab you a horse!”

As fast as his feet would take him, he dashed off to find a horse while Greene wrangled some other officers. Relief filled him. He wasn’t going to have to just watch his men die. He’d fight with them.

When he was mounted, galloping toward the skirmish behind General Greene and some other members of the staff, he could have sworn he heard Washington shout something angrily after him, but they were too far for him to do anything or make out what he said. Oh well. He’d get reprimanded for it later.

Ahead, he could see that the British had just gotten reinforcements. The fights were occurring in a large buckwheat field and the thin surrounding woods. Greene pulled the steed to a halt, and America swung off.

“Thanks for the ride.”

“Don’t get shot, or Washington will skin me alive.”

“Yes, sir,” America laughed.

Greene rode away, getting the troops in order while America crouched in the cottony plants, firing at the enemy soldiers. He got two before he spotted Addison not far from him. With the utmost caution, he crawled over.

Addison startled when he spotted him and swung his bayonet-equipped gun toward America, who ducked in the nick of time. “Addison! You almost took out my eye!”

“Sorry! I thought you were a Brit!”

“I don’t have a red jacket, do I?”

“Whatever. You can’t blame me for being on edge. Not all of us are immortal. What are you doing out here? I thought Washington grounded you.”

America aimed at an enemy soldier coming in their direction and fired, hitting him in the chest. “It’s not a grounding.”

“Uh-huh.”

“It’s not!”

“Okay, okay, how did you get out here, then?” Addison reached out his hand and fisted America’s wheat-colored hair, slamming his face into the dry, dusty dirt. A bullet sailed through where his head had been seconds ago.

He spluttered and spat out a pebble, putting a hand up to his newly busted lip and aching tooth. “Ow.”

“Better than being shot.”

“I suppose. General Greene let me come.”

“Ah,” Addison mused, inserting some more bullets into his musket. “Is Halona here?”

“Yes. She said she would go somewhere in the woods and pick them off from up in the trees with arrows.”

Addison nodded as he finished reloading. “Makes sense. Her aim is scarily good.”

“I’ve never seen her miss a shot.”

“Yeah. We were training together the other day. She was showing me how to work a bow, which I was shit at, and I taught her how to use a rifle.”

America fired and furrowed his brow. “She didn’t already know how? I’ve always assumed she knew how to operate a rifle or musket. Halona seems like that kind of person, you know?”

“I did, too, but I guess we were wrong. She can use a pistol, though, and her aim with that is decent. Hey, speaking of Halona, when you see her, can you let her know that I’m calling the tent right after dinner tonight?”

“Again?” America griped. “You did that two nights ago.”

“Hey, I can’t help it if women love me.”

“Right. Leave a neckerchief anyway, just in case. Will you be at dinner, or will you be seducing random girls, meaning I should get some extra food for you later?”

Addison playfully shoved him. “Awww, America, you _do_ care. But I’ll be at dinner. Hey, look, they’re retreating!”

America poked his head up to peek over the buckwheat. “They are! Are we going to pursue?”

A Continental soldier ran past them, screaming like a wild banshee, inspiring other soldiers to give chase, too.

“I guess we’re pursuing,” Addison concluded. He got up and pulled America to his feet.

They charged across the field, following orders General Greene was calling out to the troops and pressing the British soldiers further and further back. Eventually, a halt was ordered, the troops cheered, and everyone marched to their camp in an orderly fashion.

Upon his arrival at the camp, Washington seized America by the elbow and dragged him into the house currently serving as headquarters. The moment they were alone, he cried, “What got into you? Do you know how dangerous that could have been if England was on the field again? You could have been killed!”

America crossed his arms. “So could any of the other soldiers! You let them go into battle!”

“They’re not personifications! You can’t just keep taking these kinds of risks! If you die, what will happen to the country?”

America shrunk away, realizing that he was right. “I’m sorry, sir. I just wanted to help.”

Washington sighed and rubbed his temples. “I know, son, but you need to listen to me. We can’t keep doing this dance where you do something reckless, don’t tell me, and then almost die.”

“Okay. I’m sorry, it won’t happen again.”

“I sincerely doubt that, but I appreciate the assurance.” He let out another sigh. “Alright, you can go to your tent now. But think about our conversation. This pattern isn’t sustainable, America.”

“Yes, sir. I will.”

*************

“England! England, get up!” General Clinton urged, shaking the personification.

England groaned and sat up, blinking sleep from his eyes. “What? What’s going on?”

“Fire! Get anything important to you! We have to go!”

Suddenly wide awake, England scrambled out of bed and threw open a chest, grabbing papers inside and changing into day clothes as fast as he could go. It was a sloppy dressing job, and his military coat was barely over one of his shoulders, but he didn’t care.

Clinton led him into the street. Upon seeing what was happening, England went white. It wasn’t anywhere near as bad as his fire in 1666, but there was no question that it was severe. Flames engulfed houses, smoke billowed into the sky in massive plumes, and the air was hard to breathe as they ran down the street. Around them, regular people fled, too, carrying what they could and desperately schlepping stumbling children along.

“What happened?” England asked.

“We don’t know. Probably some rebel set it.” Clinton answered.

They took a gritty side street to swerve around the crowds. It was dark except for the flickers of the fire behind them and overhead, so it was a miracle that he spotted a little girl on the side of the road, crouched in the soot and crying with her knees drawn to her chest. He glanced around but saw no other people. Where were her parents?

Making up his mind, he shoved his things into Clinton’s arms and ran to her side, kneeling to be at eye-level with her.

“Come here,” He said, reaching for her, but she kicked his hand and crawled away.

“Stranger!” She shrieked.

“I know, but we have to get out of here. It’s not safe.” He urged and reached again, but she scooted away more, repeating her protest and threatening to scream.

Exasperated and frantic, he said, “Okay, okay, how about this? My name is Arthur. What’s your name?”

She studied him hesitantly for a moment before mumbling, “Maria.”

“Maria? That’s a pretty name. How old are you, Maria?”

“Six and a half.”

“Wow, you’re a big kid! There, see? We’re not strangers anymore. Will you come with me, Maria, so that we can get away from here? It’s not a safe place to be.”

Slowly, she nodded.

Breathing a sigh of relief, England scooped her up into his arms and jogged down the avenue, meeting back up with General Clinton.

Clinton pointed toward the outskirts of the city. “We’ve got to get over there.”

They raced down street after street, pressing through crowds and struggling to get through congested areas. New York was going up in flames, and England suddenly realized what that could mean for America.

“General!” England cried, “How far is the American camp from here?”

“I know exactly what you’re thinking. No, you can’t go see him.”

“But-”

“His friends will take care of him, and it’s not like they’d let you in. Come on, stop delaying!”

England scowled in frustration, but Clinton was right. Washington could deal with America. He had other things to worry about, like the little girl in his grip who had her arms wrapped around his neck and fists in the fabric of his shirt, holding on for dear life.

“What happened to you?” England asked her as they started wading through the crowd that was clogging the city exits.

Maria wiped her eyes. “I was with my papa, but then part of a big thing from a house fell between us and we got separated. I don’t know where he went!”

“Okay, what about your mother?”

She shook her head. “I don’t have a mom.”

“Do you have any siblings?”

“My little brother. He’s a baby. Papa had him when we were leaving our house.”

Clinton grabbed England’s wrist and tugged him through a gap in the bodies, getting them out of the town and into the surrounding lands where there were only the occasional houses and a lot of fields. The trio got far away from the burning city before stopping.

Clinton engaged an officer in conversation about the fire’s origins, but England honestly couldn’t care less.

Carefully, England set Maria on the grass. “Okay, we’re going to find your father now. Can you tell me what he looks like?”

“Um, he has yellow hair, and his eyes are brown. He’s tall and-”

“Do you remember what he was wearing, love?”

Her eyes teared up. “No!”

“Hey, hey, don’t cry, it’s okay that you don’t remember. We’ll find him. How about your baby brother? Was he in a blanket, or was your father just holding him?”

“Papa had him wrapped up in his coat.”

“Perfect. What did the coat look like?”

She grinned. “Blue with golden buttons! I remember that!”

England froze. “Blue with golden buttons?”

Maria nodded.

“Is your father in the military, by any chance?”

She frowned. “Papa told me not to talk to men in red jackets about his job. He said that they don’t like him.”

Shit.

“That’s alright. General Clinton-” England stopped. Did he really want to arrest the girl’s father? Did he really want to use her to weed out patriots?

Clinton turned at his name. “Yes?”

“Nevermind. I’m going to help Maria find her father. Shall we meet back here?”

“Sounds reasonable to me.”

“Great. Come on, Maria, let’s go find your father.” He lifted her again and set her on his shoulders so she could see above the crowd and survey all the men and women shuffling around, watching their city burn.

Maria laughed. “I’m up high!”

“Yes, now do you see your father?”

“No,” she answered, voice breaking again.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. We’ll just have to look around. Keep a sharp eye out.”

She nodded seriously. “I will.”

England stumbled through the panicked crowd for an hour, determined to help the girl. In a certain way, he felt like he was taking a step toward making up for what he’d done to America. Maybe he’d never know that England saved one of his people and spared her rebel father, but if he only did nice things for America when he knew he was going to get recognition for them, that invalidated the kindness of them.

“Do you see him, love?” England asked.

Maria was still sniffling, but it seemed like the stream of tears had ceased. “No.”

They trudged deeper into the swarm of New Yorkers until the sun was rising over the eastern horizon. England was beginning to lose hope when Maria gasped and started squirming. “I see him! I see him! I see him!”

“Whoa, careful,” England said, lifting her off his shoulders to hold her in his arms. He followed the direction of her gestures until a man who was moving desperately through the crowd laid eyes on them.

His face broke into a relieved smile. “Maria, thank the good Lord!”

England set Maria down so that she could run to her father. He hugged her with one arm. The other was cradling an infant who was wrapped in a jacket, just as Maria had said. Luckily for him, the patriot had the good sense to turn it inside out to hide its distinctive features from the swarms of British officers around him.

“I can never thank you enough. How could I ever repay you?” The man said, but when he met England’s eyes, he faltered. Hopefully, it was just the red jacket that elicited the reaction.

“There’s no need to thank me. I’m just glad you and your family are safe.” He was just about to leave when he realized that this could be his only chance. “Although, I would appreciate a small favor.”

“What is it?”

He chuckled nervously. “My name is Arthur Kirkland. When you return to your work, I’d like you to locate Alfred F. Jones. Tell him I’m sorry.”

Hurriedly, he ducked back into the crowd, leaving the soldier looking startled and unable to respond. God willing, America would get his message.

Without warning, England was roughly jerked through the throng of people. He yanked his arm away, about to tell off whoever grabbed him, but it was just General Howe.

“You startled me!” England accused.

“My bad. But there’s something more important going on.”

“What is it?”

“We’ve caught a spy!”

*************

America winced and pressed the damp washcloth onto his forehead harder. His whole body felt tired and achy. His forehead was hot from fever, and he shivered despite being drenched in sweat that was pooling underneath him.

Halona wrung out another washcloth over a bucket of cold water and switched them out. She looked exhausted. She’d been up with him all night, taking care of him and keeping him company.

Washington came in sporadically to worry and look down at America through worn-out eyes ringed with dark circles. Addison was asleep in his bed on the other side of the tent, but he woke up every time Washington came in and went right back to sleep upon each of his departures. Like now, for example.

“How is he?” Washington asked, barging into the tent.

Addison instantaneously sat up straight, wiping a long trail of drool from the corner of his mouth and blinking dumbly, trying to appear as though he had been awake the whole time despite his ginger hair being a mess from sleep and his obviously dazed nature.

He gave a sloppy salute to greet him. “General.”

Washington ignored him. His full attention was on America.

“I’m fine, sir,” America told him. “You don’t need to be worrying.”

“Bullshit. Your health has faltered with each city that was destroyed, and this is officially the last straw. You’re a mess, and you need to rest.”

“Yeah! Yes, definitely.” Addison added with confused enthusiasm. America was 99% sure that he only half-heard what Washington said, but his encouragement was nice and his enthusiasm was much appreciated.

“What he _needs_ is the fire in New York put out,” Halona retorted.

America waved it off and let his hand flop back onto the cot. “They’ll put it out soon. I just hope all my people are okay.”

Both of his caretakers sighed, but it was Washington who voiced his thoughts first. “Those damn redcoats, setting a major city on fire.”

“Maybe patriots set it,” Halona suggested. “Some kind of ‘it’s better for New York to burn than fall into British hands’ philosophy.”

He groaned. “That’s possible. I hope Hale is alright.”

“Who?”

“A spy of ours, Nathan Hale,” America answered weakly. “We sent him into the city to figure out if the Long Islanders are sympathetic to our cause. What was it, like, ten days ago?”

“Nine,” Washington corrected.

Halona hummed. “Maybe he set the fire.”

“I doubt it.”

“Well, either way,” Washington interjected, “the city is on fire. We just have to hope they put it out and take care of you as best as we can. Is there anything I can get you? Anything at all?”

America shook his head, ruffling his blond hair against the pillow. “I’m okay. Thank you, sir.”

“Durham,” Washington said, turning to Addison. “I want you to come to get me if anything changes with America’s condition. Okay?”

Addison nodded blearily. “I agree, General Washington. Excellent strategy. We’ll have them retreating in no time.”

Washington rolled his eyes. “Nevermind. Halona, that’s your job.”

“Alright,” she said with a light laugh. “You should try to get some rest. The sun will be coming up in a few hours.”

“If only. I’ll see you soon.” He said in farewell, ducking out of the tent and letting its flap fall closed.

Instantly, Addison collapsed, face shoved into the pillow and limbs sprawled all around him. If he didn’t feel so terrible, America would have worried about him accidentally suffocating himself.

“I’ve never met someone who, when tired, acted so…” Halona trailed off, not sure how to finish her sentence.

“Drunk?” America supplied.

“Exactly.”

*************

October 2, 1776

Prussia,

It has been too long since we’ve seen each other. How are you? How is Holy Rome? I hope his condition is improving.

I heard about your recent negotiations with Russia concerning partitioning the Poland-Lithuanian Commonwealth. I’m sure I don’t have to warn you to be careful when you’re dealing with Russia, but as your friend, I have to say it anyway. I was wondering what is going to happen to Poland and Lithuania, though. Are they separating? Will they be living with you or Russia? How do they feel about it all?

Anyway, I’m sure you’ve heard from Ludwig that he sent troops to reinforce England. They are very well trained and have fought bravely. Unfortunately, most of my soldiers are not soldiers at all; they are just regular people standing up for what they believe in, and while passion for a cause is a powerful weapon, true militarism would do me a world of good. I was hoping to request assistance in the form of troops, weapons, supplies, funding, and/or any other way you deem fit. You’ve already cut off trade with England (which I deeply appreciate, so thank you), and I know that you despise him. Perhaps aiding my cause could be an opportunity for you to get back at him.

I’ll be honest; things aren’t perfect. Winters are bitterly cold, we don’t have enough food or clothes, and now that the Hessians have joined the British, things are getting more difficult on the battlefield. But my people have a strong fighting spirit, and we have a purpose that the English armies lack. We’re full of grit and good at digging our heels in. I think we can win, especially with your help.

France is also siding with me. He has sent supplies and weapons since the fighting broke out, but now that we have officially declared independence, we can make negotiations that aren’t so arcane. I’m sure that we will work something out with King Louis, meaning that I won’t be just a new country standing on my own against an empire.

I’ve heard that your daughter, Liechtenstein, has become close to Switzerland. Perhaps, since Switzerland is France’s half-brother, that could persuade you, too.

In any event, I’d be eternally grateful for any support you could give me. I don’t want to live under England’s thumb anymore, and my people need to be treated better. I’m doing my best to take care of them, but with your assistance, I could give them the lives that they deserve.

Sincerely,

The United States of America


	31. God and Glory

“I only regret that I have but one life to lose for my country.” -Nathan Hale

England tried not to think about the American spy locked in the greenhouse outside the mansion serving as Howe’s headquarters during their occupation of New York City. The fire had spared it, meaning that England was laying in his bed with soft sheets and a quilt to keep him warm amidst chilly September while countless New Yorkers were suddenly without a home and the majority of their belongings. He tried not to feel guilty about that, either.

The spy’s name was Nathan Hale, a man of twenty-one years, strikingly handsome (baby blue eyes, light blond hair, and well-sculpted muscles were among his most attractive features), and courageous. Gullible, perhaps. He’d been captured relatively easily. But that was one pitfall against a lot of good, from what England had seen.

Tradition said to lock a spy in a greenhouse the night before their execution, and General Howe had followed that to a T. Howe was delighted to have discovered Hale, and he had gushed about it before they went their separate ways for the night.

Hale hadn’t been given a trial, and his hanging was scheduled for the next morning, which seemed unfair to England, but he wasn’t going to pick a fight with Howe over it. He had to save putting his foot down for more important things such as the safety of people he cared about.

Still, though, it bothered him. He knew Hale had requested a Bible for his last night on Earth, but the provost marshal, William Cunningham, had spitefully denied him one, which was uncalled for. Later, Hale asked for a clergyman instead, but Cunningham shut down that idea, too. There was this vague... _wrongness_ to it that England couldn’t pinpoint.

Hale was a traitor. He was spying and reporting back to someone on the rebel side. For all intents and purposes, England should want him dealt with. He shouldn’t care that he was stranded in the greenhouse without the religious comfort he wanted so desperately before his premature death.

It was in moments like these that England turned to his best method of decision making. He simply asked himself, what would Queen Elizabeth do?

She was a follower of the Church of England, a Protestant religion, just like Puritanism, which Hale practiced. She would likely have granted him his wish, and England certainly held her opinion in much higher respect than William Cunningham’s, so he made up his mind.

Silently, England slipped out from under his covers, shivering and wiggling into a pair of trousers. He slid on his shoes and wrapped himself in his coat before digging through his nightstand for a Bible. There was one in there somewhere, but he rarely used it and mostly just kept it because it was something most Western Europeans had nearby. Plus, if Parliament heard that he had left it behind, they’d be scandalized. Not as bad as when he informed him of his relationship with America, of course, (the looks on their faces were priceless, but it wasn’t like they could outright stop him, and he wouldn’t let them, either) but it would still rouse an unsavory response best avoided. Thus, he found the Bible under a bottle of oils. Wasn’t that ironic?

England grabbed the leather-bound book. It wasn’t in perfect condition, but he figured that he was betraying Cunningham’s orders to do Hale a kindness, so he would just have to tolerate the neglected religious text’s state.

With the Bible tucked into his coat, he snuck out of his room and down the halls, keeping close to the walls and shadows even though no one was around. The doors would be guarded, so he was going to have to go another way.

He took the stairs, tiptoeing with such focus that he probably looked ridiculous. He wound around the ground floor until he was at the back of the house. Slowly, ever so slowly, he opened a window. Poking his head out, he saw no one, so he climbed through. It was meant to be graceful but was somewhat of a blunder in execution. What mattered was that he got out of the mansion- named the Beekman House- and was able to sneak over to the greenhouse.

The Beekman greenhouse was a large structure, covered in windows through which he could make out the dark shapes of trees and other fauna. It was made of wood, but the designs were elegant, and most of the wall was glass to let the sunlight in when it was daytime. If he were in more ideal circumstances, he would have taken a moment to appreciate the architecture, but marveling at it wasn’t going to get him past the guards that were patrolling the perimeters.

There was simply no way around them. They were everywhere, walking around the greenhouse and constantly watching, ready in case Hale tried to escape.

Well, if he couldn’t go around them, he might as well go through them. Feigning confidence, England marched up to the front of the greenhouse. He was almost to the door when a soldier stepped into his path.

“This place is off-limits.”

England raised a brow. “Oh?”

“No one is allowed to see the prisoner.”

“Right,” England said, forcing annoyance into his tone. “You’re hilarious. Move aside, soldier.”

He shook his head. “I can’t do that.”

“Do you know who I am?” England said, dropping his voice to a hiss.

His confused blink answered England’s question, but he verbalized, “Um, no?”

“My name is Lieutenant-General Arthur Kirkland. I am a close colleague of Generals Howe and Clinton, I am a personal friend of the king, and I outrank you so much that it’s almost an insult for you to even speak to me. Move out of my way, or _I_ will move you.”

Another soldier hurried over and passed him a key. “I’m very sorry, Lieutenant-General, he’s new. Go right ahead.”

England strutted forward and slipped the lock into the keyhole. He flipped it to the side and stepped in, pocketing the key and letting the door fall shut behind him.

“Has the execution been moved up?” Asked a sharp but not aggressive voice from somewhere further in the greenhouse.

He couldn’t see very well in the darkness, but moonlight caught Nathan Hale’s shimmery blond hair, so he was able to identify where he was. “No. My name is Arthur Kirkland.”

“I’m Nathan Hale. Although, you probably already knew that.” Hale stepped closer, and as the moon bathed more of his figure in its silvery glow, England was once again taken off-guard by how handsome the man was.

“Ah. Well, I have something for you.” He produced the Bible from in his jacket. “It’s not in pristine condition, but it was all I could get you. Cunningham didn’t want you to have one.”

“You’re here against the orders of the provost marshal?”

“Yes. I decided that you deserved this if you wanted it. It _is_ your last night, after all.” He paused. “Sorry, that probably wasn’t the best thing to say.”

Hale smiled softly. “It’s alright. It’s true, isn’t it?”

“Unfortunately.”

That only served to confuse the spy more. “I don’t understand. You’re England, aren’t you? If there’s anyone that should want me dead, it should be you.”

England stared back. “Oh. I didn’t realize you were informed about my identity.”

“My patron told me,” Hale answered.

“And you’re not concerned about me being here?”

He walked closer, close enough that if England wanted to, he could have reached out and brushed his fingers against his cheek. Carefully, Hale accepted the Bible. “No. America said that if something happened and you were cruel to me, there wasn’t much that could be done. But if you showed me kindness, that I could trust it.”

England’s breathing stopped short at the mention of America. He wasn’t expecting him to be a part of this conversation, either. Actually, he didn’t even anticipate a conversation. The plan was to give Hale the Bible and leave as fast as possible. But he had a magnetic kind of energy that England didn’t want to go; Cunningham be damned.

“America said that?”

Hale nodded. “He said that if I was caught and you were kind to me, I still had a chance of living. I hope he was right.”

England sighed guiltily. “I’m sorry, but he was not. I can’t release you.”

“That’s a shame,” He said with a tinge of sadness, but he seemed calm overall. “Perhaps you could just keep me company.”

“What do you mean?” England asked, face flushing.

Hale shrugged and sat down on a bench, running his fingers over the cover of the Bible gingerly. “General Howe let me spend the late afternoon writing goodbye letters to my mother and sister, so I’m thinking of them. Also, it’s lonely sitting in a dark greenhouse by yourself waiting for your death. It’d be nice to speak to someone. ”

Oh. Yes, that made sense. Slowly, England sank onto the bench next to him, taking his mind out of the gutter. “Are you scared?”

He smiled a little. “No. I believe that I’ll be going somewhere better. I just wish that I could have done better for America.”

“Are you and America friends?”

“Not really. I only met him twice, but he makes you feel like you've known him forever after talking for just a minute. But I don’t need to tell you that.”

“No,” England said. “I know that well. How is he?”

“He’s recovering from the Battle of Long Island swiftly. I don’t know if you heard, but he was wounded. Mostly his shoulder and arm. Last time I saw him, his arm was mostly healed, and that was the injury taking the longest to repair itself.”

The greenhouse suddenly felt much colder. England pulled his coat around him tighter. “Yes, I knew about him getting hurt.”

“He’s got a bit of a scar on his cheek right now, but he said that it would fade in a couple of weeks. Miraculous-personification-healing, I guess.”

“I see. Do you know Halona?”

Hale shook his head. “The name sounds familiar, but I don’t know her personally. Is she one of those two girls that are friends with America?”

“Yes.”

“Sorry, I don’t really know her. America has too many friends for me to keep track of.”

“He does?”

“Mhmm. There are the two girls, Addison Durham, Washington, Greene, William Hull- he’s a mutual friend of ours. And there are all those Congress members. Both Adamses, Hancock, Deane, Franklin, Cushing, Francis Dana, Elbridge Gerry, Jefferson, Lovell, Treat Paine, Randolph until he died… I’m not sure. There’s a lot of them.”

England gave a half-hearted laugh. “He has no trouble making friends. May I ask if he has found a partner?”

Hale frowned. “Why?”

“Just curious.”

“I think so. Those girls sleep in his tent.” Hale said, shrugging. “I’ve never asked, though. It’s none of my business.”

England nodded. “I see.”

Hale gave him a puzzled look. “Why did you bring me this Bible? And why have you chosen to stay here?”

“It was the right thing to do,” England answered. “Despite what you may have heard from America, I’m not a terrible person.”

“He never said that,” Hale remarked. “He only spoke of you to me once, but he was… pensive. Sad. All he said was good. I believe he misses your friendship.”

“I can’t imagine why.”

“Well, this is only speculation, but you seem like a decent person. Perhaps that is why.”

England chuckled, but it held no humor behind it. “Thank you, Mr. Hale, but you don’t know me.”

“That may be true, but I’m a pretty decent judge of character. You’re good. I can tell.”

He lowered his eyes and studied his shoes. “Thank you. I’m sorry that I can’t save you.”

Hale waved it off and tapped his Bible. “Don’t be sorry. I’m going to be free. I only hope that one day, America can be, too.”

*************

The Park of Artillery was dotted with Sunday morning dewdrops that clung to swaying blades of grass. They slipped when the wind blew too hard and plopped to the ground like tears. England felt like shedding some himself, though he wouldn’t have admitted it and kept a stiff upper lip.

In one night, he had grown attached to the American spy that was standing straight while a noose was tightened around his neck. To someone of his class, death by hanging was an insult, but Hale didn’t take any offense.

A large butternut tree was stretching its limbs above them. Against it was leaned a ladder so that their makeshift executioner/soldier could throw the rope over a strong branch. Hale was below it, noose clenched around his throat. Somehow, he maintained his strange, alluring beauty even with a rope around his neck.

England’s Bible was in the greenhouse, still. He’d directed Hale to hide it under the bench just before the guards came to get him so that England could get it later without anyone knowing he’d lent it to him. He tried to think about that instead of the pending death in front of him.

His transgressions were read off to all the soldiers and New Yorkers watching, a warning to all not to defy the crown. England didn’t like listening to it.

Then William Cunningham took the letters Hale had been allowed to write to his mother and sister, bidding them farewell, and tore them. Pieces of paper fluttered to the ground and stuck to the wet grass, smudging the ink and ruining them. Nathan Hale didn’t show any reaction, but England saw how his eyes followed the shreds and felt his heart clench.

Hale didn’t deserve this. But there was nothing that could be done.

The speech recounting Hale’s treachery concluded.

“Alright, Captain Hale, say your piece,” Howe directed.

Hale smiled softly. When he spoke, his voice was steady, calm, and sure, nothing like what the voice of a man moments away from strangulation should have sounded like.

“I don’t regret my actions and choices. Death is a small price to pay for the freedom of others. It is my duty to serve America. Anyone who believes in their cause would be happy to die for it. My cause is liberty, and it will bring me to my savior, so I don’t feel any despair- and neither should any others.” He looked at England when he said that, blue eyes peaceful and reassuring. “I only regret that I have but one life to lose for my country.”

With that, he fell silent. General Howe nodded to the man holding the end of the rope tightly in his fists. He jerked it down and wrapped it around his hands and wrists to keep his hold on it.

Hale’s feet left the ground. His face contorted in pain. He gasped, coughed, and struggled to breathe. As his cheeks changed color and his eyes bulged, tears leaking from the sides of them, England found himself gritting his teeth, wishing it would be over faster.

He kicked and thrashed some more out of instinct until, finally, he fell still. Captain Nathan Hale was dead.

“Should I cut him down?” Asked the man with the rope.

Howe shook his head. “No. Leave him there for a few days. It’ll send a good message to the people. Bury him on Thursday or Friday. Don’t leave a marker.”

“Yes, sir,” The soldier replied, wrapping the rope around the trunk of the hanging tree.

England stared at the motionless body for a few moments before turning and walking away. The Beekman House was far. Hell, the city limits were at least a fifty-minute walk. But he didn’t want to take a carriage; he needed fresh air and time to think.

What was he going to do now? Would his apology message to America yesterday even matter now that he watched one of his friends be executed?

He gave him the Bible, though. It was a small kindness, and, like helping the little girl and sparing her father, America would never know about it. But it was still good. Hale had said that he was good- he could do good. Maybe he wasn’t joining Washington’s army, but he was paying America back a little bit at a time. In a way, each good thing he did was a small apology. Perhaps, with enough apologies, he could learn how to forgive himself.

Because that was the bigger problem. Sure, he wanted America to forgive him, which felt like a daunting goal, but even more impossible was forgiving himself for what he was doing. Each day, each hour, each minute, and each second, he was betraying the love of his life, but he couldn’t stop. He had to keep going even if it ruined him. Maybe, when it was all over, and America was safely tucked away in London, he could start working on repairing the damage he’d done to himself, but he had to win the war first, even if it meant allowing Nathan Hale to be hanged.

England approached the Beekman House and crossed the yard. The sun was warm on his skin when he made his way to the greenhouse. It was like a completely different place in the day. Last night, it was a dark, inky prison cell. But now it was filled with light, and he could see all of the plants that grew inside: trees, bushes, flowers, and everything in between. With the introduction of visibility, he learned that the bench he spent hours on last night beside Hale was white with swirling designs on either end. When he knelt, he found the Bible resting there, just like he had requested.

He retrieved it, but as he lifted it, a small slip of paper fell out. It was the corner of one of the pages he’d been given to write to his mother and sister. All that was on it was a note reading: Thank you. That was it.

Sighing, England stuffed the slip into his pocket and headed back to the house. General Howe wanted to talk to him about some ideas he had for trapping Washington’s forces.

However, it’d be a miracle if England could focus when his fingers kept brushing the note’s side.

*************

Winter had come to North America. It was bitterly cold when Washington’s army hunkered down in Pennsylvania. In the far north, Benedict Arnold had to keep moving his forces back. The invasion of Canada wasn’t going well at all. Battles had been fought all over New Jersey, too, as Howe pushed them further and further south. They’d suffered a large loss of life at White Plains when they were still in New York. Fort Washington was lost to the British, as was Fort Lee. They lost their underwater craft, the Second Continental Congress adjourned, and they’d been fighting small, random battles for the last two days.

Poor Washington tried to reunite with Generals Horatio Gates and Charles Lee, but Gates was delayed by snow, and Lee was an insubordinate asshole who never listened to anyone. He got what was coming to him, though, after wandering away from camp for a rendezvous. The redcoats captured him on December 12th, so General John Sullivan led his forces to meet with Washington in Pennsylvania on the 20th instead. General Gates arrived later in the day with disheartening numbers.

Enlistments were expiring, and deserters were leaving every day. Supplies were crushingly low, but somehow, morale was even lower. They’d been beaten over and over again. Defeat was bitter in everyone’s mouths, and it was five days until Christmas. Most of the men didn’t have their families with them for the holiday. It was all very uplifting.

An area called Kentucky had become an American territory, though (sort of, it was still kind of messy), so America took some solace in that, and Thomas Paine’s newest writing, The American Crisis, was inspiring to read on cold, lonely nights. But Halona returned to Boston despite America’s begging for her to stay. She insisted that Kaiya needed her, though America was sure that it was a mutual and symbiotic relationship. Halona needed Kaiya just as much as Kaiya needed Halona.

Washington claimed that he had plans for an attack that would change the course of the war, but America didn’t allow himself to be hopeful. If his expectations were low, he couldn’t be disappointed, which was what he was most of the time.

Pennsylvania stepped up for them when it came to this super-secret plan Washington neglected to explain. After being treated poorly by the British and Hessians, they were more than happy to rouse their militia to join Washington, adding another thousand to their numbers. And suddenly, it was time for their grand plan to begin.

They cut the troops up into three groups. The first was in charge of guarding boats. The second was in charge of protecting the sick and wounded. And the lucky third was preparing for battle, utterly unaware of what was about to happen.

Snow, frigid sleet, and hail gushed down around them, and America shivered. He’d worn a hole in the sole of his right boot, so he could feel the frozen ground underneath him.

Addison had it worse. His South-Carolina-born blood was turning to ice in his veins, and his teeth were chattering uncontrollably. Still, he flashed America a smile when he looked over at him. Orders said to be silent, so that was all he could do.

Colonel Henry Knox had been trusted with artillery management, and he was currently overseeing the loading of weapons into boats that looked ready to sink at any second. That was one of the only clues the troops had. They knew they were going to cross the nearby Delaware River, but beyond that, they knew nothing. It was frustrating, to say the least.

America helped a lot with the loading. He couldn’t exert his whole strength in front of the soldiers, but he could certainly give them a significant boost while acting winded. He did his best to put his faith in the men and, even more, in Washington, who he walked in on praying in his headquarters earlier in the day. Washington was Anglican, so that shouldn’t have worried him, but it didn’t make him feel much better.

He wasn’t very religious, himself. Back when he very first joined his colonies, he was. He was Puritan, then, like most Americans. His mother believed in the Great Spirit, like most native tribes, but he’d never been convinced, likely because of his people’s piety. Whatever it was, he attended church once he met England and joined British society.

England never came with him because England said that religion wasn’t a major concern for him anymore, which was ironic since he rode in the crusades and his monarchs were very passionate about Protestant vs. Catholic beliefs.

That was during the later part of the Protestant Reformation when your religion was crucial to your identity. But England was firm in the fact that he didn’t have much faith in religion anymore and griped about how he had free will and could think something different than his people. America had just shrugged, attended the service, and come home to find England in a foul mood like he was whenever America mentioned his Christianity.

When America asked him why, he was very evasive, but eventually, he admitted that he took issues with Puritan ideals and practices. Mostly, he didn’t like their strict code on what was and what was not sinning. At the time, America didn’t understand, but in retrospect, it was probably because England was attracted to him and assumed America was unobtainable thanks to his Puritan doctrine. No wonder he was moody when America brought it up.

Luckily for England, when more people with diverse views moved across the Atlantic, his Puritan reverence faded. Once he realized he was in love with England, his beliefs slipped away almost entirely.

His pilgrim roots still affected him sometimes, though. He had strong morals, and the more sordid of activities bothered him. When he and England were still together, on the occasion that he would decide to, England could easily fluster America beyond speech by whispering dirty things into his ear, especially if he did it from behind him, seizing his hips as he let his lips brush over the shell of America’s ear…

The point was, he didn’t feel assured by Washington’s praying.

America climbed into the same boat as Washington beside one of the oarsmen. Colonel Henry Knox was also aboard the boat, as well as General Adam Stephen. They pushed off and started rowing across.

Ice chunks were everywhere, threatening to collide with their shallow boat and sink them all. It tipped precariously underneath them, and America eyed the river’s strong current, hoping that it wouldn’t push them into any of the frozen hunks.

Washington scowled at Knox. “Shift that fat ass, Harry. But slowly, or you’ll swamp the whole damned boat.”

He heard Addison, who was behind him, stifle a laugh and try to disguise it as a cough.

“It’s so cold,” whispered a soldier to another.

“What’d you expect? Our enlistment expires in six days, though. We just have to make it until then.”

The first soldier scoffed. “Watch me die here. How ironic would that be? Where are we even going?”

“Across the river.”

“Very funny. Seriously, do you have any idea what’s going on?”

“Nope. There’s Hessians on the other side, though, so my guess is we’re ambushing them.”

“On Christmas? That seems low.”

“All’s fair in love and war.”

“I guess.”

America stopped eavesdropping in favor of watching Washington. He was crouched down in the boat, looking determined with an unwavering sense of purpose. Maybe there’d be a Christmas miracle and they’d win. Or maybe the miracle would go to the Hessians.

Their boat hit the New Jersey shore after their daring crossing. No one in theirs fell out, though the same could not be said for all the other ones. At least no one drowned, and everyone that fell in was pulled out.

“Form a sentry line around the landing area,” Washington ordered. “The password is ‘Victory or death,’ got it?”

The row of soldiers nodded.

“Good. Go.”

Addison took the spot next to America. “Well, that was miserable. I’m glad it’s over.”

“Me too.”

“Do you know what the plan is?”

He shook his head. “No. Washington wouldn’t even tell me, so whatever it is, it’s top secret.”

“Damn. Washington tells you everything.”

“I know. Crazy, right?”

Addison fiddled with a string hanging from his shirt’s cuff, slowly drawing it further and further out. “Yeah. I hope I don’t get shot. It’d suck to die on Christmas. Oh, Merry Christmas, by the way.”

“Merry Christmas to you, too.”

“Thinking about it now kind of puts a damper on things, ya know?”

“Yes. Last Christmas, we had a cabin.”

“The Christmas before that, I was getting laid.”

“Addison, what did we say about oversharing about your sex life?”

He smirked, barely even hearing America. “I was getting laid the Christmas before that one, too.” 

America rolled his eyes. This was going to be a long night.

They’d crossed starting at six last night and didn’t finish until three the next morning, so Christmas was gone, and it was now just any other miserable December day. They tore down some fences to try to make fires to keep them warm, but it was futile. All they could do was suffer until it was time to move. At four, they were ready to march.

Washington split the army into two columns. He and General Greene took command of Column One, and the other went to General John Sullivan. Sullivan took his men up River Road to Trenton, New Jersey.

As for America, he followed Washington along a trail named Pennington Road, which was a ways inland and ran parallel to River Road. It was bitterly cold and very wet with the snow and sleet that kept pelting them. Many of the soldiers didn’t even have boots and tied cloth around their feet instead. Blood trailed behind the army from those rag-wrapped feet, and two men died along the way.

Their general did his best to keep their spirits up, but it was miserable, especially when a courier approached Washington from General Sullivan, and America heard him inform him that their gunpowder was mostly useless because it kept getting wet from the weather.

Washington didn’t care. "Tell General Sullivan to use the bayonet. I am resolved to take Trenton."

Addison and America exchanged a look.

Some other parties met up with them eventually. At first, they were panicked, but the others were American as well, and it was a relief to get fifty more soldiers on their side. The relief was killed when they said that they had attacked a Hessian outpost earlier.

America thought Washington’s head might explode. "You sir! You, sir, may have ruined all my plans by having them put on their guard."

They kept going.

They probably walked for a long time, but it felt like only a couple of seconds compared to standing and waiting for the rest of the crossings.

They approached an outpost. Addison and America glanced at each other again. Wasn’t Washington’s mysterious plan supposed to be stealthy?

A Hessian Lieutenant spotted them almost instantly. He cupped his hands around his mouth and called, _“Der fiend!”_ \- the enemy- in his language as he fled. One of the patriots shot at him, but it missed.

Soon, more Hessians arrived, ready to face their opponents. Washington, perched on a horse and in front of his men, didn’t hesitate. “Fire!”

Bullets whizzed through the air as the Americans began a volley. The Hessians replied with their own, so the patriots sent two more.

“Hand!” Washington called to one of the soldiers. “Take your riflemen and the German-speaking battalion! Don’t let them get to Princeton!”

The soldier, Edward Hand, was the leader of the Pennsylvania Riflemen. He gave a salute and started organizing his men.

“Is Washington surrounding them?” Addison asked, crouching to fire at the Hessian soldiers. “Choking them and pressing inward or something?”

“I don’t know,” America said, shoving some more bullets into his musket. “Hey, are they retreating?”

Addison squinted. “Holy shit, I think they are!”

America pulled him behind a house to reload. “Looks organized. They’re still firing.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard of someone putting the Hessians on the run before,” Addison said giddily.

“I wouldn’t say that they’re on the run, but sure.”

He leaned around the corner and shot his musket. “Come on; we need to get closer. Let’s move forward.”

They darted down the street and lunged behind some crates before they could be shot. Addison spun around, fired, and ducked back down. “I think they’re retreating to the high ground.”

“Ah, shit,” America mumbled, plugging in more bullets. “At least we caught them off-guard.”

“Yeah. I think they thought we were a raiding party at first.”

“We need to move up again.”

By the time they reached the north end of Trenton, the Hessians had been able to call for reinforcements. Lots of reinforcements. Still, America couldn’t see a single dead soldier, which was both good and bad. Good because none of them were his. Bad because none of them were Hessian.

A soldier America didn’t know ran up and crouched beside them, flashing a smile at Addison. “Hey, Durham. How are you holding up?”

“Fine,” Addison answered. “Haven’t been shot yet.”

“Did you get word of the movements?”

“No. What’s going on?”

“Washington is sending infantry to block the escape route to Princeton. He doesn’t want the Hessians to be able to take shelter in another city.”

America frowned. “Are we supposed to go?”

“No, we’re supposed to keep going North.”

“What else is happening?”

“They’re putting up artillery not far from here at the intersection of King and Queens street. But the good stuff is happening in the other column.”

Addison laughed. “You mean we’re missing the real action?”

“Hell yes. Sullivan blocked the Creek, the only other way out of the city, while Greene drove them out of their northern outposts. They tried to get their men together, but it was a mess. One volley and they turned tail and ran!”

“No!” America exclaimed.

“Yes. They tried crossing the creek. Some swam, some took the bridge. Even their dragoons fled! And now our artillery is crushing them while Sullivan and Greene are squeezing the city.”

“Where’s General Washington?” America asked as the ground shook from cannon fire.

“He’s on the high ground, now. You guys did good fighting them off it.”

Addison grinned. “Thanks, Patrick. Weren’t you in Sullivan’s column, though?”

The soldier, Patrick, nodded. “He told me to inform General Washington about all that, and now I’m just here spreading the word to the others.”

“Do you two know each other?” America asked.

They both nodded, and Addison said, “We met during the Battle of Long Island. He’s a shit shot, but he’s got grit.”

“Can’t argue with that,” Patrick admitted. “And you’re Mr. Jones, aren’t you? Washington’s advisor?”

“Call me Alfred.” He paused, examining Patrick. “Wait a second, Patrick? Patrick Wells?”

“That’s me.”

He gaped. “You saved my life! In Lexington, remember? You let me take shelter in your house.”

Patrick smiled. “Good thing I did. You being alive has paid off considering you’re Washington’s personal advisor. Speaking of, why aren’t you with the general? Don’t you normally start the battles with him?”

“Washington is kept this close to his chest. Even I didn’t know about it.”

Somewhere behind them, they heard a loud voice. “Forward! Advance! Advance!”

Patrick furrowed his brow. “Were those our orders?”

“No,” Addison reported after peeking around the house corner. “There’re more Hessians coming. Their general said that.”

The fight began with Americans shooting first. Many of them had been allowed in houses to shoot from windows where they were covered and more of their gunpowder could stay dry. Others fighting on their side were just civilians who believed in their cause and happened to own a hunting rifle.

On the other side of the war were the Hessians, whose gunpowder was mostly drenched, meaning that they couldn’t discharge their weapons.

They fought for what felt like forever until a squad of six men recaptured their cannons and turned them against the Hessians. America, Addison, and Patrick had taken shelter under a shop awning and behind barrels. Initially, they were planning to stay there, but then came Washington, riding in on his horse triumphantly.

“March on, my brave fellows, after me!” He shouted.

Hope swelled in America’s chest. They were going to win, and the other soldiers knew it. The Hessians kept retreating all the way into an orchard with the Americans running in hot pursuit.

Addison and America, along with their new friend, kept close together. Their best chance at success lay in being united.

Patrick gasped.

“What?” Addison asked, immediately assuming the worst.

“Look! Their general has been shot!”

He was right. The general was wounded and the troops were thrown into chaos. Many dropped their weapons and held up their hands. Others tried to run, only to be stopped by patriot forces.

Washington demanded that they surrender. Terms were hashed out and the battle ended with a patriot victory.

Addison beamed. “We did it.”

“Yeah,” America said, laughing breathlessly. “We did.”

By noon, they were back in Pennsylvania, but this time, they returned with almost 900 prisoners, a thousand arms, ammunition, tons of flour, dried and salted meats, alcohol, shoes, clothing, and bedding. They were only a couple of patriots lighter, including the two that died during the march.

It should be noted, though, that Washington had told the men not to take any liquor. He was disobeyed, quite a few men got drunk, and there was more rescuing of men who fell out of the boats on the way back than there had been on the way there.

Unsurprisingly, Addison was one of those men.


	32. Prison Ships

“All tyranny needs to gain a foothold is for people of good conscience to remain silent.” -Thomas Jefferson

America had a new colleague by the name of Alexander Hamilton. He had become an aide-de-camp and was confident in his new role amongst Washington’s staff. At first, America didn’t like him. He was a fiery hotshot with reddish-blond hair that had some curl to it and bright blue eyes that almost looked violet around the rims. His voice was loud, his opinions unwavering, and he was, frankly, an asshole when angered.

When Washington told him about personifications, he had been furious. He ranted about keeping secrets from the American people, etc. But eventually, Washington calmed his tantrum. America met him right after that, and his objections died upon seeing America, though he wasn’t sure why.

He liked America a lot, talking to him whenever possible. Addison was irked by this for a while because it meant he couldn’t complain to America about rations and weather, but eventually, America convinced him to stick around and talk to the new-comer. However, Hamilton didn’t take as well to Addison. In fact, whenever America was with both of them, they’d shoot each other dirty looks the entire time. It was rather irritating.

America worried that with Hamilton’s strong opinions on things, he was faking that he liked him to get a political advantage. He was a charmer, after all.

Eventually, he decided Hamilton wouldn’t fake it. He was perfectly comfortable telling people everything he didn’t like about them when they pissed him off and never lied to spare people’s feelings. So he could be hard to work with, but he was also admirable.

Before Hamilton joined, there was a second clash at Trenton, followed by a battle at Princeton. They hunkered down in Morristown, New Jersey. Sporadic battles occurred.

According to letters from Silas Deane, negotiations with France were going wonderfully. He was sending over a young, eager marquis that he thought would help the American effort significantly. His ship would be arriving soon, though America wasn’t sure exactly when.

Congress finally figured out an official flag design donning thirteen stars and stripes while Vermont (previously New Connecticut) was declaring itself independent, a country separate from America. He didn’t struggle to keep them. He understood the lust for independence and wouldn’t deny it to them. Besides, the constitution they drafted looked great-. It even tackled the issue of slavery. Slaves had to be freed once they reached adulthood (21 for males and 18 for females). It wasn’t abolition, but it was a step in the right direction.

Plus, it was summer!

The con was that they lost Fort Ticonderoga, where 200 Americans were captured. His people were decaying on prison ships with treatment that made his blood boil, but the best he could do was fight as hard as possible to keep them with him, despite feeling weaker lately because of the prison ships.

Washington had plans for winning the war, though. The Six Nations, a native alliance composed of six different tribes, still had one tribe that wasn’t involved in the war. Most of the others (Mohawks, Seneca, Cayuga, and Onondaga) had sided with the British. But tribe six was still neutral: the Oneidas.

General Washington had decided that they could greatly benefit from the Oneida’s support, and they already had a way in, which is how America ended up in New York, following Kaiya and Halona into their village. It reminded him of his last time there when he’d come for their wedding, but this time, he didn’t have Canada beside him, and England wasn’t awkwardly trying to stay on the opposite side of the campfire as him.

Their chief, Shenandoah, was in charge of the Oneida tribe. He’d come to their village to talk to America, and the personification couldn’t be more nervous.

“Okay, we’ll translate for you,” Kaiya said, “Just be polite, and you’ll be fine.”

“Don’t say anything you wouldn’t say to your grandma,” Halona instructed. Then added- “You know, if you had one.”

“Halona!” Kaiya hissed.

America laughed. “It’s fine. Thanks, Halona. So, how does this whole system work? Is the chief similar to a king?”

“No,” Halona answered. “He is more like the leader that the clan mothers work with.”

Kaiya chipped in. “We have a matrilineal society, meaning that when it comes to identity and family, the maternal line is followed, not the paternal one like in your culture. Mothers decide whether marriages should be allowed and tend to call the shots. They also supervise all of the children and watch the boys closely. It is up to them to elect the next chief. They also voice the concerns of the people, give advice, things like that.”

“They’re kind of like your Congress or England’s Parliament, except more hands-on and not corrupt,” Halona added.

Kaiya rolled her eyes. “Thank you, Halona. Chiefs are more like advisors to the people. They help conduct ceremonies and act as the tribe’s representative when meetings between tribes occur, like the Grand Council, which is a meeting we have between the Six Nations to make important decisions-”

“-or debate them and not make any, or do different things despite that not being how it’s supposed to work.”

Kaiya continued, ignoring the interruption. “There are also the faith keepers, who make sure that traditions and ceremonies happen and keep things running, but they have little political power.”

“So, if the clan mothers hold the power, why am I meeting with the chief?” America asked.

“Because he’s the mouthpiece,” Kaiya explained. “He will listen to you and ask you questions, that sort of thing. When he’s done, he will report back to the clan mothers. They will discuss it, and when they finish that, he will come back to you with the decision.”

Halona nodded. “It’ll take an uncomfortable amount of time.”

America smiled. “Oh, I get it. That makes sense. Does he know about personifications?”

“I doubt it. We’ve never met your mother, so I’d assume he wouldn’t know about her existence.”

He hummed. “Yeah, that makes sense, too.”

“Oh, shit! I didn’t mean to bring up her- um, her disappearance.” Halona said suddenly.

“It’s alright.”

Kanatase ran up to them with Okwaho on his hip and Deganawidah on his heels. Deganawidah was much bigger than the last time America saw him. He’d officially reached the age of 14, old enough to be working if he lived in the colonies. Kanatase was different, too. He was taller and stronger-looking, but he still had that boyish grin and a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Hello, Kaiya!” He said to his younger sister, slinging his free arm around her shoulders. “What is happening?”

“Alfred’s going to negotiate war stuff,” Kaiya answered, taking Okwaho from his arms and switching to her native language. “Hey, Okie. Goodness, how old are you now? 25?”

“No, I’m seven!” She said, laughing.

“Oh, that’s right. I almost forgot.” Kaiya smiled at her little sister and looked back at her brother. “He’s going to try to get Chief Shenandoah to take the side of the colonists.”

“That won’t be hard if you and Halona side with him, too,” Kanatase remarked. “Samuel Kirkland has been persuading him to join the Continentals for a while now, and the clan mothers like him.”

“Is it working?” Halona asked.

He shrugged. “I guess so. Samuel and the chief are like brothers. He listens to him.”

“As great as this conversation is,” Kaiya interrupted, passing Okwaho back to Kanatase, “We have to get going or we’ll be late.”

“Good luck,” Kanatase said to America, changing to English. “I hope you win.”

“Thanks.”

Kaiya and Halona led him deeper into the village until they reached the chief’s house. It was warmer inside than it was outside, unpleasantly so, but America had worn light clothes. Thank god he chose to leave his jacket at camp.

A very tall man stood up and greeted Kaiya and Halona, smiling. They exchanged words in their language for a while until the chief sat down on a log bench and gestured for America to do the same on the opposite one. Then, he spoke.

“Hello,” He said. “I am Shenandoah.”

“My name is Alfred Jones. How are you?”

“I am well. How are you?”

“Good, thanks. General Washington sent me to discuss the war.”

Kaiya repeated what he had said in Oneida. The chief told her something, and she turned back to America. “You want my tribe to join on your side, correct?”

“Yes.”

More Oneida conversing. Halona translated, “I am inclined to agree. However, it would come at a loss of life for my warriors, and I fear that if your Continental army wins, your people will continue moving west and take our land.”

“Those are both valid concerns. Of course, in any war, there will be soldiers who don’t come home, and that is a tragedy. But the ideals that we are fighting for make that sacrifice worthwhile, and I hope you will see it the same way.”

“And the land?” Kaiya interpreted.

“I have a lot of political pull and, if we win and the United States remains a country, I will do my best to protect it.”

Chief Shenandoah held a brief conversation with the girls in Oneida before Halona converted his question into English. “You intend to do what is best for both societies?”

“Yes, I do.”

Kaiya took over for the next one. “He used an Iroquois- specifically, Tuscarora- proverb or saying or whatever you want to call it. It doesn’t translate perfectly, but it would roughly come out to ‘those who have one foot in the canoe, and one foot in the boat, are going to fall into the river.’ It means that you can’t truly straddle both worlds without ruining yourself and that eventually, you’ll end up not benefiting anyone.”

America hesitated. “That may be true, but it doesn’t mean that I won’t try my best. I will do what I can.”

He didn’t seem very swayed by the answer when Halona told him what America said, but his next question was, “You are fighting to create your own nation independent from the English?”

“Yes.”

“You fight for freedom?”

“Yes.”

Slowly, Shenandoah nodded and stood.

“I must speak with the clan mothers,” Kaiya relayed.

Kaiya and Halona headed out, beckoning for America to follow. He scrambled after them as a line of women filed into the chief’s house. His heart was pounding, though he wasn’t sure why.

“That was nerve-wracking. Do you think it went well? He didn’t seem to like me very much.”

“You did a great job,” Kaiya assured him.

At the same time, Halona said, “Yeah, he didn’t like you.”

America groaned. “I knew it. Shit.”

Kaiya patted his back and gave Halona a scolding glare that held no real malice. “It’s okay. Trust me- it could have been a lot worse. I still think you have a decent chance of getting their support.”

He looked to Halona for a truthful answer, and she shrugged. “She’s not wrong. Even if he didn’t like you, you’re a lot less annoying than some of the white men that try to come waltzing in here. Not to mention he likes us and Samuel Kirkland- an American minister that has been living with us. That might sway him. So might my translations. I tweaked what you said to be a bit more eloquent. And really, it’s up to the clan mothers.”

“Do they like me?”

“They don’t know you. But they like Samuel, Kaiya, and me.”

Glumly, he leaned against an oak. “What will I tell Washington?”

“That it’s not your fault and that he has no reason to be mad,” Kaiya replied,

“He won’t be mad. He’ll just be disappointed and do this sigh thing that he does when he feels discouraged. Then I’ll apologize, and he’ll say something like, ‘It’s alright, son, you did your best,’ which is very nice, but I’ll still feel like I let him down.”

“You haven’t even been rejected yet,” Halona pointed out. “So let’s not jump to conclusions.”

America glanced at the chief’s house. “They’ve been in there for a while.”

“It’ll take some time. How about we work on your Oneida?” Kaiya suggested. She’d recently been teaching him her language whenever they had a spare moment. It was useful for distracting him and making him stop worrying about ongoing events.

“Okay,” he surrendered, sliding down to sit cross-legged on the ground, Kaiya and Halona following suit.

“Let’s see what you remember. Hello.”

_“She·kú.”_

“Correct. Goodbye.”

 _“Nʌ kiˀ wah_ or _onʌ́ kiˀ wah.”_

“Yep. Friend.”

_“-Atʌlo-.”_

“Red.”

_“Onikwʌ́htalaˀ.”_

“Orange.”

“He paused. “Oh, shit, that’s the long one that starts with T, right? Um… I… don’t really remember.”

“That’s okay. It’s _teyotsiˀnkwalá·kalas._ You’re doing well.”

“Thanks. I don’t remember much beyond that, though.”

She waved it off. “Learning new languages is hard. Don’t worry about it.”

“It’s a shame Canada can’t be here. He has a knack for foreign languages; he’d love this. He speaks fluent English and French, and he can speak a good amount of Italian, German, and Dutch. He decided to learn them for fun when he was still a French colony since he was staying in Paris a lot of the time, which is near countries that speak those languages. When we were kids, he was always better at using native languages. We could both speak the most common ones fluently and the others enough to get by, but he was more proficient in them than me.”

“You spoke some of all the native languages?” Halona asked, impressed.

“I mean, I had plenty of time to learn them, and my mother never stayed with one particular tribe. We were always moving between tribes, so we kind of _had_ to know them. A lot of them I don’t even remember the names of anymore, though.”

Kaiya frowned. “Really? You just forgot it all?”

He nodded. “I was born in the early 15th century before the first American settlements existed. That happens a lot. The universe decides that personifications need time to grow before their civilizations exist. Anyway, I was with my mother until the early 16th century. That was when I joined England. As soon as I was embracing who I was and managing my colonies, my memory of the languages slipped away. That’s not all, either. My childhood is a bit of a blur to me.”

Halona shook her head. “That’s so weird.”

“Tell me about it. Half of my childhood, I’m not even sure happened. Like, I think my mother took us west and we stayed with tribes out there, but I only recall snippets of what it was like out there. Probably because my own culture is developing, and I’m not actively seeking knowledge of those things. That, and my people don’t know what’s out there, so I’m losing those memories.”

“Do you ever remember things?”

“Once in a while. Whenever I visit your village, a few of my memories about the Oneida tribe get sharper, but a full memory hasn’t struck me in a long time.”

Halona rested her chin on her fist. “So, you were here, living with our tribe before we were even alive?”

“Yes, somewhere around the time when the Five Nations was formed. Before that, my mother kept us away from those tribes since they were fighting all the time. She didn’t think it was safe for us.”

“That’s so weird,” she said again. “Well, maybe one day more of your memories will come back.”

Kaiya interjected, voice quiet. “America, can I ask you for a favor? It’s off-topic, but it’s been bothering me.”

“Sure. What is it?”

Her hazel eyes flickered away from his, and she plucked a piece of grass out of the ground, tying knots in it to give her hands something to do. “Chief Shenandoah was right about the land. If you win the war, your people will want to go west. I mean, even you want to. But that’s dangerous for us. I’m sure you know this, but when the Europeans first arrived, they treated our people terribly. They pillaged our villages, raped our women, and murdered the men. Sometimes, they killed us with their weapons. Other times, they were killed by the diseases they brought with them. It didn’t matter that most of us were kind to them and saved them from starvation during the first few winters. They… I’m sorry, but Americans are insatiable. They want everything, and if they don’t get what they want, they take it. Too many natives have died because of their actions. I want you to win the war, but I don’t want the abuse that the tribes have suffered to escalate.”

Halona nodded. “Yeah, and I know you don’t like the Proclamation of 1763, but it has saved many native lives. Possibly even Kaiya’s and mine.”

“I guess what I’m trying to ask you to do is promise me it won’t be like that. Promise me that you’ll take care of us. Promise me that even when Halona and I are gone, you will act as though we were still alive. Not to just the Oneida, either. To all the tribes.”

America’s eyes softened. “I promise.”

A small smile crept upon her face. “Thanks.”

“I’m sorry about what happened at the beginning, by the way. The early settlers shouldn’t have treated your people like that.”

“Not all of them were bad,” Kaiya said with a shrug.

Halona pitched in. “Your so-called ‘lost’ Roanoke settlers were friendly when they joined the Croatoan tribe.”

“Right!” Kaiya chimed. “Things aren’t black and white.”

When he opened his mouth to respond, a woman came out of the chief’s house and said something to the girls, who stood and brushed themselves off.

“Your time has come,” Halona said dramatically, taking America’s hand and pulling him up. “Go get ‘em, champ.”

He laughed nervously and entered the house. The girls were with him, of course, but now there was a massive crowd of women watching him approach the chief. Their stares felt like spiders crawling on his skin.

Shenandoah made his statement, which Halona translated. “Hey says, ‘We have talked it over and come to a decision.’”

More words he couldn’t understand. Then, “The Oneida tribe would be honored to fight with your patriots.”

America broke into a smile, the tension in his shoulder falling. “Thank you, Chief Shenandoah, thank you so much. I appreciate it more than I could ever say.”

The chief extended his hand, and America shook it firmly, adding one more, “Thank you, sir,” before the clan mothers dispersed.

Patiently, America waited while the girls talked to their chief for a few minutes. He didn’t know exactly what they were saying, but he knew the word for goodbye, which they used.

Kaiya and Halona escorted America to their longhouse, where he would be staying the night before returning to Washington to give him the good news.

*************

Prison ships were scattered around the waters of the thirteen colonies. England had suggested them to accommodate the surplus of prisoners they were trying to keep. The generals had liked his idea, and soon they were everywhere.

Today was the first time he had been on one of them, though. He’d been warned that it wasn’t uplifting and that he might not enjoy it, but General Howe got letters from Washington urging for better treatment of the prisoners. Such a message was odd enough that he decided to visit the HMS >em>Noble, and he told England to come with him to see how the recruitment of prisoners for the British army was doing.

Their rowboat brushed the side of the ship, and they had to board with assistance. Or, really, Howe had to board with assistance. England had been a privateer; he wasn’t hindered by the inconveniences of large, sixty-gun ships like the _Noble._

The ship’s captain, a burly man with a thick cockney accent, approached, offering a handshake. “Welcome aboard, gents! Right this way. ”

He led them through a door and down squealing wooden stairs into the belly of the beast. Immediately, England was hit with the smell. It reeked of rotting meat, human waste, vomit, and something sour England couldn’t place. Howe and England both gagged, pressing hands over their mouths and noses.

It was stiflingly hot, too, to the point where it was difficult to breathe the stale, rancid air.

The captain chuckled at the looks on their faces. “Sorry, I probably should ‘ave warned ya. They’re disgusting, these damn rebels. Stinkin’ up my ship like a buncha’ animals.”

He tutted and kept walking, England and Howe following right behind him. As they passed cells, there was only one way to describe the conditions, which was horrific.

In one cell, England saw a man lying on the ground in a puddle of liquid feces. His face was so pale that he looked like a ghost. His eyes were unfocused and unseeing as he rolled to the side to expel the contents of his stomach, which was nothing but acid.

All of the prisoners were thin. Many didn’t even have clothes, and England could see each individual rib protruding from under their naked skin.

“Are you feeding them?” England asked, already knowing the answer.

The captain shook his head. “Nah, only the higher-ups.”

“What do you feed them?”

“Meat an’ bread that’s gone bad, mostly. Gotta get rid of the table scraps somehow, right?” He laughed at his own joke and pointed to one of the cells where an older man was curled against the wall. “See that one? He’s funny. Eats other people’s shit so’s he don’t starve. Definitely my favorite.”

England felt his nausea come back. He looked around until he spotted a boy in another cell. Hesitantly, he approached it. At first, he was going to rest a hand on the bars but thought better of it. “Who’s that?”

The captain shrugged. “Some kid. He’s a real piece of work.”

“How old is he?”

“Fourteen. Lil’ bugger lied about his age so that ‘e could join them rebels. Crazy, if ya ask me.”

The boy’s face was yellow, and his eyes were changing color, too. Red vomit had stained the front of his thin, ripped shirt, and blood had leaked from the corners of his eyes and mouth.

“He has yellow fever,” England said, turning to the captain. “He’s going to die any day now.”

His face was carefree, with nothing but confusion. “And?”

“Why didn’t you get him medical treatment?”

He scrunched up his brow. “He’s just some rebel brat. An’ it ain’t a big deal. Plenty of ‘em ‘ave yellow fever. They’re always gettin’ sick. You name it. Smallpox, dysentery, and whatever else. Fuckin’ nasty, I’m tellin’ ya.”

“How many are dying?” England asked.

“Meh, ‘bout six a’ day.”

Howe frowned. “Captain, the point of these ships was to convince prisoners to join the royal army, not to throw them in a hull to die.”

“We get plenty of recruits! Most of ‘em take one look ‘round here and decide they’d be much better off sportin’ red. It’s just some of these traitors are stubborn. They don’t ever listen. Hell, just two days ago, I was havin’ a smoke on the deck when one of ‘em tried runnin’ off. My men shot ‘im, o’ course. But then we had to come down ‘ere and get rid of ‘is accomplices.”

“Get rid of?”

“Yeah. Bang bang, if ya know what I mean.” He laughed, then reconsidered his words. “Well, actually, more like stab stab. Don’t wanna waste bullets.”

England swallowed a lump in his throat. “How did you know they helped him?”

“They just ‘ad the look, ya know?”

“You executed them without actually knowing they did anything wrong?”

“They’re traitors. That’s enough for me. Besides, it’s good bayonet practice for the men.”

He winced, looking around again, noticing a soldier that looked like he was dead. Considering what he’d seen, he probably was. “Where are you putting all the bodies?”

“Holes on the mainland. Gotta take ‘em out, dig a big one, and dump ‘em every day. Bloody nuisance, it is. Not to mention that we’ve got way too many. We ain’t supposed to be holdin’ this many in a ship this size and they get all jumbled up. Sometimes we come down ‘ere and find one that’s been dead ten days! The rats love ‘em, though.”

“How many have died?”

“Eh, ‘bout two thousand? Not sure exactly.”

England’s mind went straight to America. If Washington was asking for better prison conditions, he was confident America knew what was happening, too. How was he going to talk his way out of this one?

He could say he didn’t know how bad it was, which was sort of true. He was aware that what the prisoners were facing was bad, but he didn’t think he was killing thousands of them (2,000- and that was just from one ship!) On the other hand, he was the one that ordered these ships to be brought in and assembled in the first place.

Was it enough damage to affect America? Was he getting sick? Was he angry? Why would England even ask that last one? Of course he was angry! He was always mad about everything England did, which wasn’t fair. It was war! What did America expect? For England to just roll over and die? He couldn’t protect every single American in all of the colonies. He had to pick and choose, and he chose America, Kaiya, and Halona.

“How many are joining?” Howe was asking the captain, but England had wandered off, deeper into the hellhole they called a jail.

He strolled until he found a cell with a young man in it (18? 19?) who looked to be in much better condition than most of the other people. Hesitantly, England stopped in front of the barred door. The young man looked up and glared at him.

“What’s your name?” England asked.

He spat at England’s shoe. “Fuck you.”

“That was rude,” England stated, calmly examining the spit that hadn’t quite reached his shiny black boots. “What is your name?”

“Fuck. You.”

England rolled his eyes. “Alright, fine. How long have you been here?”

“Why?”

“Because I want to know more about the state of this place without it being filtered through the captain.”

Warily, the American answered, “Three days.”

“Have you been fed within those three days?”

“No.”

“Have you been given any water?”

He chuckled bitterly. “They put a bucket of seawater in here yesterday to taunt me. Does that count?”

“No. Are you ill?”

“No.”

“Whose army are you in? Or, I guess, _were_ you in?”

He crossed his arms and leaned against the barred wall. “General George Washington’s. I got captured while trying to collect a message from a New Yorker for the general’s personal advisor.” 

“What message?” England asked.

“Dunno. I never got there.”

England frowned. The apology? “Ah. How have the guards treated you and the other captives?”

“They’re dickheads, every last one of them. There’s nothing they love more than dragging people out of cells to beat them up. It’s their way of blowing off steam.” His tone changed to sarcastic as he said, “Don’t worry about it, though, Lieutenant-General. Some of them don’t end up dying from it.”

“There are prisoners being beat to death?”

“Yeah. I heard a story from one of my cellmates- he died two days ago, though, so you just missed him- about them doing that. Apparently, they had some guy a while back that they shot up for target practice.”

“Pardon?”

“Yep. They tied him up and made a whole game out of it. Ten points per shot!” His bitter, sarcastic tone was back. “I’m not sure who won, though. You’d have to ask someone who was here longer; they got to see the show. You know, if you can find a coherent one. I’m pretty sure he had a brother here that saw it all, but I could be mistaken. Maybe try him.”

England nodded, swallowing dryly. It was war, he reminded himself. War is never without violence. “Thank you.”

He walked away briskly, trying not to look at the dying Americans and their hateful glares. It seemed that their nationalism was still firmly intact, despite their living situation.

“Finished, General?” England asked, eager to get out of the ship. The stench was making him light-headed.

“Yes, perfect timing, Lieutenant-General. Captain, thank you for your time. Good luck with the recruitment process.”

Howe didn’t wait for the captain to show them out. He strode up the creaky wooden steps and out onto the desk with England behind him.

Fresh air had never smelled so good. England took large gulps of it the moment he could. After being inside that ship, the sea breeze was euphoric.

The captain waved goodbye when the dinghy left the ship. Soldiers were rowing it for them, which meant that England could look over his shoulder at the ship as it got further away. There was that feeling again. Guilt. It had been a rather persistent emotion lately. But how to overcome it?


	33. Oneida

“No words can tell you how much I love and how much I long—you will only know it when wrapt in each other’s arms.” -Alexander Hamilton

John Laurens was the name of the newest aide-de-camp for Washington. He was yet another curiously handsome member of the staff. Laurens came with crystal blue eyes, off-blond wavy hair, and a bright smile that spelled hope.

That was a trend among Washington’s newer staff members: most of them were notably attractive. There was Laurens, of course. Before Laurens was Hamilton, who America was almost certain was flirting with him once in a while. Before Hamilton was a string of blond, green-eyed boys who bore a resemblance to England, and before them, it was a collection of handsome Massachusetts men.

Considering Washington’s undying devotion to his wife, Martha, (and his attraction to women), America ruled out the possibility that the attractive assistants were there for Washington’s entertainment and became very suspicious that the general was trying to find someone for America so he could get his mind off of England. He’d finally opened up about it not long ago, lamenting about how much he missed England and how he regretted how things had gone between them. Washington had listened carefully, nodded along, and offered consolation.

Washington was Anglican, and his religion opposed sodomy, yet he cared deeply about America and did his best to set that aside so that he could support America as best as he could, which he greatly appreciated.

Whatever the reason for John’s hiring, it was quickly apparent that he wasn’t interested in him, anyway. John always had his blue gaze on Hamilton.

Not that he minded. His eyes, heart, and mind still revolved around England. More so than usual, lately. He missed England in every possible way, and it was getting to him. There wasn’t a moment when he wasn’t distracted by him.

Washington noticed pretty quickly and forbade him from going into battle. This time, he made sure every single general was fully aware of it, too, so he couldn’t sneak off with General Greene again, even when Washington left on a trip to Philadelphia to give Congress an update. Their army didn’t see any action, but still.

While there, Washington met the young marquis Silas and France had sent, and the Frenchman joined Washington’s staff. The man (Marquis Marie-Joseph Paul Yves Roch Gilbert du Motier de La Fayette, in full) was close in age to America. He was tall, had dark red hair, hazel-brown eyes, rounded features, and a long nose. He was an eager fellow and socially awkward sometimes, but upbeat, excitable, ambitious, and optimistic. America liked him a lot, and when he learned of America’s identity, he liked America, too.

Of course, he had a million questions about not just America, but France, too. His English was broken, but they were able to get through the conversation. He was learning quickly, anyway. Apparently, he’d practiced on the ship he took, and America was impressed with how well he did considering the fact that it was so new to him.

Lafayette, as the Americans had taken to calling him, wasn’t being paid for his military service. He’d heard about their cause, boarded a ship (‘against the king’s orders,’ although the ban was delivered with a wink and a nudge), disguised himself as a pregnant woman, got caught, left a second time, encountered complications with the captain, purchased all the ship’s cargo so that the boat would continue, and landed along America’s coast. It was all exhilarating, to say the least.

In a letter from France, he’d promised more warriors (he’d already sent many) to help out and promised that if his king would allow him to go to war, he’d cross the sea to stand with America.

In the meantime, though, America was just supposed to keep fighting as hard as he could to convince King Louis XVI that he should help him.

Things with Franco-American relations weren’t perfect, though. Arthur Lee, a Virginian envoy, was running a smear campaign against Silas Deane. He’d always hated Silas for reasons beyond America’s comprehension. Jealousy, maybe? He wasn’t sure. What mattered was that Lee had been throwing dirt on Silas’ name, and thanks to Lee’s reputation as a leader, Congress was beginning to listen to him.

Lee said that Silas wasn’t good at his job and that he should be recalled. The problem was that Silas wasn’t a loud, brazen politician like so many of the ‘greats’ were, so Congress didn’t have much of an impression of him. Only those that knew him personally were upset about Lee’s actions, and America was livid.

It wasn’t like there was much he could do about it, though. He wrote Congress letters addressing his agitation over Lee’s slander. Letters back mostly thanked him for pitching in his opinion and said little else. He’d declared independence a year ago and he was already disliking Congress.

They were pleased with him, though. There had been a battle in New York fought with the Oneida. While they had technically lost, it was a strategic victory.

Not long after, word of another battle called the Battle of Bennington spread quickly across the colonies. Patriot General John Stark and Ethan Allen, a Vermont citizen, led a ragtag group of men called the Green Mountain Boys into combat. They faced thirty casualties, but the other side faced over two hundred, and seven hundred were captured. It was a great morale boost, and a ballad was even made up about it bearing the name the Rifleman of Bennington. (“Why come ye hither, Redcoats, your mind what madness fills? In our valleys there is danger, and there's danger on our hills... Ye forward come with speed, but you'll learn to back much faster when you meet our Mountain Boys and their leader Johnny Stark, lads who make but little noise, lads who always hit their mark.”)

General Benedict Arnold, who Washington was growing to like more every day, decided to approach Fort Stanwix in New York. Upon hearing that he was coming, the British turned tail and fled, giving up the fort, which seemed like a good thing until General Howe landed his troops in Maryland and they realized that they were gunning for Philadelphia.

Upon this realization, Congress decided that precautions needed to be taken. The redcoats had a thing for destroying symbolic items, so the Old State House Bell that resided in Philadelphia was moved for safekeeping while Delaware battled to slow their advance.

Fighting happened all over Pennsylvania, including in Brandywine and East Whiteland (America had been allowed to fight in the latter, and then the universe, being a cruel, ironic monster, had sent the heaviest rainfall America had ever seen in his entire life dumping down on them until the battle was literally rained out).

They were forced to retreat and Washington, who had been working with American General Anthony Wayne, decided it was best for them to split up. In the dead of night, when Wayne’s Continentals slept, the British attacked. Worried that a stray gunshot would reveal their ambush, they left their bullets behind and were told to kill with their bayonets.

And kill, they did. The redcoats stormed in, using their blades to stab soldiers, even the ones who were on the ground with their hands up, surrendering, and the ones unarmed, begging for mercy.

Witnesses described it later, traumatized from what they’d seen. They said things like:

“I, with my own eyes, see them, cut and hack some of our poor men to pieces after they had fallen in their hands and scarcely shew the least mercy to any…”

And, “...more than a dozen soldiers had with fixed bayonets formed a cordon round him, and that every one of them in sport had indulged their brutal ferocity by stabbing him in different parts of his body and limbs... a physician... examining him there was found... 46 distinct bayonet wounds…”

And, “The Annals of the Age cannot produce such another scene of butchery…”

Two hundred and seventy-two men were killed, wounded, or missing by the time it was all over. The redcoats lost four.

By that point, the redcoats were feeling very good about their odds. Boosted by high morale, they took Philadelphia. Congress had to flee to Lancaster, Pennsylvania, and then to York, Pennsylvania.

When October came tumbling in, though, they got the strangest news. Howe, who was not just a general but also the Commander-in-Chief, was _resigning._

************

Kaiya swept another lock of Halona’s hair into her hands and incorporated it into the braid she’d been working on.

Halona sighed. “How much longer?”

“I just started,” Kaiya laughed. “Be patient. It’ll be done in just a minute, and then you can go tree running with Kanatase. I don’t want you snagging your hair again. You almost fell last time.”

“But I didn’t.”

“I don’t care. Hush and stop squirming.”

She huffed but didn’t protest, even when Kanatase came over with little Okwaho on his hip, annoyed. “What’s taking you so long?”

“You two are impossible to please,” Kaiya tutted. “I’m almost done. Kana, where is Deganawidah?”

“Packing lunch.”

“You’re leaving my little brother in charge of our food?” Halona asked, dumbfounded. “That’s the stupidest idea I’ve ever heard. He’s going to pack a bunch of honey. You know that, right? We’re going to open the bag, and all there is going to be is honey.”

Kaiya added- “The better question is, why do you have Okie? She’s not going with you, you know.”

He chuckled awkwardly. “Yeah, about that. Mother told me to take care of her. I was kind of hoping you’d come with us and watch her.”

Kaiya stared at him, expressionless. “What?”

“Please, Kai? Mother hasn’t put you in charge of the little ones in forever.”

“Not true. I was in charge of Otetiani yesterday,” she retorted, referencing her youngest sibling.

“Otetiani is the most passive child on the face of the planet. He barely counts.”

She narrowed her eyes at him as she tied a ribbon around the base of Halona’s braid. “Fine. But you owe me your dessert tonight.”

“Deal.”

“Okay, ‘Lona, you’re good.”

Halona hopped up, grabbing her bag. “Thanks, sweetheart. Let’s go!”

Kaiya rolled her eyes and smiled at her enthusiasm, carefully taking Okwaho from her brother. “Hey, Okie. We’re going to have so much fun while the others go tree running, aren’t we? Yes, we are! It’ll be so, so much fun!”

“Quit talking to our sister like she’s a dog,” Kanatase said, laughing.

After picking up Deganawidah, they wound through the Oneida territory, looking for their favorite place to start running from. When they located the tree with notches to climb up, they scaled it and tossed their bags down to Kaiya.

“Why didn’t you just leave them down here in the first place?” Kaiya asked.

“We forgot.”

“Well, I hope you pay more attention when you’re sprinting around in trees.”

Kanatase shook his head. “I won’t be sprinting.”

“I will!” Halona chimed.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re the best runner in the whole tribe, we know. Thanks for reminding us,” Kanatase said.

Kaiya smiled up at them. “Good luck, you guys. Don’t break any bones.”

Halona flashed a grin. “No promises!”

She took off across the first branch, darting through the foliage like a phantom. Kanatase followed, disappearing into the clusters of green.

“Why can’t I go on the first one?” Deganawidah complained. “It’s not fair!”

“Because you can’t go as fast as them, and you need someone to supervise you. Don’t worry; we’ll have plenty of fun down here.”

“No, we won’t.”

“Not if you keep a bad attitude about it. If you think negatively about your situation, you will perceive it negatively.”

He frowned and flopped onto the ground. “Like Boston?”

Kaiya paused. “What do you mean ‘like Boston?’”

“Will I be happy Halona lives in Boston if I stop being negative about it?”

“Maybe.”

He sighed sadly. “I miss her when you’re gone. Do you think you’ll ever come back?”

“We come back all the time.”

“No, I mean really come back. Like, to live with us.”

She scooped him up in her arms and let him lean against her. “I don’t know, Dega. She misses you, too.”

“Then why does she live in Boston?”

“Because I’m there,” Kaiya said, brushing some dark hair out of his eyes. “And I’m her wife, and she runs her late uncle’s bookshop.”

“But why can’t she come back? Couldn’t she sell the bookshop and move home? She doesn’t need white men’s money here.”

“I know. But she loves books. Reading is a passion of hers, and working there has made her so much happier.”

“But it’s not a city where you fit in.”

She nodded sadly. “I know we’ll never fully belong there. But we like Boston and our village. We want to have both. Besides, we’ve made good friends there that we don’t want to leave.”

“Leaving us doesn’t matter, then?”

“No, Dega, that’s not what I’m saying. I’m saying that this is the life we live, and we intend to keep living like this. I know it’s not easy, and I know it is, at times, not ideal. But Halona visits you, doesn’t she?”

Deganawidah’s gaze dropped to the dirt. “You didn’t visit for a long time from May a few years ago until March the next year.”

Kaiya shuddered. “We couldn’t.”

“Why not?”

“We were living with that friend of ours, Alfred. Remember him? He was at the wedding.”

“Yeah, I remember.”

“There were some laws passed on the colonies that said English soldiers could live with colonists, even if we didn’t want them to. That happened to Halona and me, so we moved in with Alfred and his brother, Matthew, to be safer. We wanted to come home, but we didn’t want to leave them there, or else they would be outnumbered. They were dangerous men, Dega. We couldn’t abandon the Joneses.”

He stared at her, wide-eyed. “Were you okay?”

“Yes. They weren’t always nice to us, but we made it, and eventually Arthur Kirkland- he was also at the wedding- came over from his homeland and made them leave.”

“I thought… Well, it’s stupid, but I thought Halona forgot me.”

“Oh, Dega, no! You’re her brother. She could never forget you. She loves you.”

A small smile crept onto his face. “I love her, too.”

“I love you both!”

They looked up to see Halona swinging down from the trees. She landed perfectly and dusted herself off. “What were you talking about?”

“Boston,” Kaiya answered.

“Ah.”

A moment later, Kanatase came out of the trees, winded and sweating. “You go… so… fast!” He said between gasps.

Halona laughed. “I’m guessing you don’t want to go again, then?”

“Hell no. Halona, you take Dega, and Kaiya, I’ll bring Okwaho back to the village.”

“Sounds good to me,” Kaiya said, passing off their sister.

“Do you want to come back with me?”

“No, I’ll wait on ‘Lona and Dega.”

“Are you sure? By yourself? Seems kind of boring.”

She waved it off. “I’ll be fine. Besides, I have a bag full of honey.”

“I knew he was just going to pack honey!” Halona exclaimed. “I called this, like, half an hour ago!”

Kaiya chuckled. “Good job, dear.”

Halona beamed with pride. “Okay! Ready to go?”

Degawanidah nodded.

“Follow me!” They climbed up, and she ran off down the first branch. Degawanidah skittered along behind her while Kaiya sat down beneath the tree, resting her head on its trunk and watching the clouds roll by.

Her mind was quickly filled with painful thoughts- mostly about current events. The Oneida had their first battle with their fellow Iroquois not long ago. Warriors that came back had said they saw others they knew and that it was difficult to face them in war. She wasn’t sure about their alliance with the Continental Army. Of course, she believed in America’s cause, and she hoped he would win. But she’d be lying if she said she didn’t feel isolated from the rest of her people. They were one of the only Iroquois tribes not siding with the British, which made her feel stranded and alienated. It gave her this sense of _otherness_ she couldn’t quite explain. She missed the unity of the Six Nations. She could only hope it wouldn’t become the Five Nations.

And that was a whole other concern. If the Oneida were no longer part of the Six Nations, they’d be in great danger. The Iroquois’ alliance was what kept them alive. Their tribes had fought each other before the unification, but now they were a dominant native power, so their tribe had enemies- and that list was extensive.

Other groups, like the Cherokee and Algonquian, were not composed of a few strong individual tribes like the Iroquois. Their power came from having dozens of small tribes banding together to stay intact. If the Oneida were on their own, tons of tribes would be out to get them, either for revenge or to take their land.

God, the land. What if America couldn’t keep his promise? What if her people were forced west? What if they were killed? The colonists, no matter how much she loved America, were greedy. They were never satisfied with what they had and would kill for more. How far west would they have to move? How much of the ancient, sacred land they had cultivated for centuries would they lose to banks, roads, inns, and taverns?

Kaiya squeezed her eyes shut to clear her head. She didn’t want to think about the war right now. She just wanted to relax and enjoy the evening as it bled into twilight. Mosquitos would be out soon. She hoped that Halona and Deganawidah would hurry up.

As she reopened her eyes and studied the clouds, she noticed something odd. They were different. Were they that dark earlier? Was it just the time of day, or were they changing color?

She squinted at them. Was that smoke?

“Kaiya!”

She flinched, turning her head to see Halona and her little brother returning. Halona let Deganawidah scramble down first, carefully keeping an eye on him when he climbed, using the notches in the tree.

“We had so much fun!” Deganawidah exclaimed. “We ran so far, and I think I set a new record for myself. Halona! Halona, did I set a new record?”

His older sister chuckled at his excitement. “I’m pretty sure you did.”

“Which direction did you go?” Kaiya asked.

Halona gestured toward the wilder parts of the forest in the opposite direction of the strange clouds. “Meh, somewhere that way.”

“Not to alarm you guys, but, ‘Lona, does that look like smoke to you?” Kaiya asked, pointing it out.

“Uh…” Halona studied it. “Yeah. Yeah, it does. But that can’t be right. That’s near the village. I mean, I know we keep a lot of bonfires going, but that’s a lot of smoke.”

“Halona,” Kaiya whispered, urgency in her voice to convey her stress.

Suddenly, Halona’s eyes widened. “Oh, god. Dega, stay here!”

He frowned. “What? Why?”

“Because I said so.”

“I’m not a baby! I’m fourteen!” Deganawidah protested, crossing his arms.

Halona sighed in irritation. “Don’t do this right now. Stay here. Don’t move!”

Immediately, she dashed off into the woods. Kaiya ran beside her, sprinting as hard as she could toward their village. The closer they got, the more they could smell it. There was no doubt now; there was way too much smoke lingering in the forest. Something was very, very wrong.

When the village was in sight, Kaiya thought she might have a heart attack. Flames were everywhere, climbing up the walls that protected them from invaders, reaching out of longhouses, and catching onto nearby trees. The whole thing was alight, blazing, and hot. Their people were stumbling out of it. Some were already away from the destruction, further into the woods and helping with burns.

At first, Kaiya couldn’t tell what the cause of the fire was. But then she heard yelling in English. She pulled Halona out of the way in the nick of time, right before a horse thundered through the place they had just stood. Atop it was a rider in red. He carried a torch in his hand that he threw over the wall.

There must have been nine or ten redcoats and some of them were firing on fleeing Oneidas.

In all the chaos, Kaiya almost missed Degawanidah darting past them into the combusting village. His figure streaked through the mayhem, arm over his mouth and nose to keep out some of the smoke.

“Dega!” Kaiya screamed, reaching to stop him, but he was already ahead of her, disappearing between the devilish tongues that were devouring their home.

Halona took off after him, and Kaiya couldn’t stop her, either. The best she could do was follow her through the sparks.

Inside the village, everything was red, yellow, and orange, blazing with the intensity of a thousand suns. The smoke was suffocating, and she struggled to breathe as they looked for Deganawidah. Kaiya pulled her shawl off her back and pressed the cloth over the lower half of her face to shield herself a bit better. Already, her lungs were straining to get enough air.

“Where did he go?” Halona yelled over the roaring of the fire. Her forest green eyes scanned the area, searching in a frenzy for her little brother.

“I don’t know!”

Halona ran a hand through her hair and cursed. “Kaiya, get out of here. I’ll find him, just go to safety.”

She shook her head fervently. “I’m not leaving you. If I’ve said it once, I’ve said it a thousand times. I’ll follow you to the ends of the earth or into fire, Halona. I’ll follow you as long as I have lungs to breathe and a heart to beat.”

Halona sighed in defeat and made a weak attempt at a joke. “Okay, no need to be so dramatic. Let’s go.”

They ran deeper into the inferno, hands clasped. Debris in the breeze built up on Kaiya’s shawl, and soon enough, it wasn’t helping her. It only made it more difficult to breathe. She tossed it and watched Halona discard her own.

Suddenly, Kaiya hissed at a sharp sting on her chest. “Ah!”

Halona whipped around. “Are you okay?”

Kaiya reached under her collar and pulled out the metal ring strung around her neck so that it no longer pressed against her skin. “It was too hot.”

Halona, whose ring was already separated from her body by her top, nodded, grabbed her hand again, and forged farther into the burning village. The fences surrounding the villages had collapsed in some places, giant logs slamming into buildings to flatten them or outward in the surrounding area. As the walls broke, the woods around the village began to light up faster than paper in a stove.

“Dega!” Halona called, stumbling around a building on the brink of collapse. “Dega!”

“Deganawidah!” Kaiya tried. Her voice came out strained. It didn’t matter how much she tried, the volume of her cries was forcibly limited by the pain in her throat from the toxic atmosphere.

“Dega, where are you?”

A hand grabbed Kaiya’s upper arm and she jumped, expecting to find a redcoat, but it was Kanatase. His face was streaked with soot, and his clothes were drenched with sweat. “Kaiya? What the hell are you doing here?”

“Me? What are _you_ doing here?”

The fear in his eyes was something Kaiya had never seen from him before. He was always a happy, go-lucky person who found a way to look on the bright side in the darkest times. But now, he looked downright terrified. “I can’t find Okwaho!”

“What? I thought she was with you!”

“She was! We came home and she went to the longhouse but she wasn’t there when they attacked, and she’s not outside!”

Kaiya placed a hand over her mouth in horror. “Oh, god, she’s in here?”

“Just get out. I’ll find her.”

“No,” Kaiya explained, “Deganawidah ran in here, too. We have to get him out.”

Kanatase’s shoulders slumped. He looked off into the distance where the fire was taking over more of the Oneida wilderness. “Okay. Okay, just- be careful. Find me after this is over. I need to be sure that you’re alive.”

She reached for him as he took a step back. “Kana, wait!”

But he was already tearing away.

Instead, Kaiya grasped at her wife. She just would have to trust that Kanatase could take care of himself, and meanwhile, she could do her best to find Halona’s little brother. “Halona, we need to think like Dega. Why would he come in here?”

“To save people and things, probably. I don’t know,” She said helplessly.

“To save people and things. Then we should try the elders’ house. He could be getting them if they haven’t already evacuated or the sacred items in there.”

Halona’s eyes lit up. “Kaiya, you’re a genius.”

Kaiya led the way this time, going much further into the village than was safe. Her skin was beginning to blister and she could feel her scratchy throat begging for relief from the dry, polluted air.

The elders’ house came into view, but half of it was already destroyed. Its doors were thrown open from the fleeing people that had been inside when the fire was set and the roof was gone. The girls rushed through the entrance, searching urgently, but Deganawidah was nowhere to be seen.

“Shit,” Halona cursed.

Kaiya pulled her back toward the doorway. “We can’t waste time. We have to keep moving.”

They turned and retraced their steps until they saw Kanatase again. He was in one of the longhouses that was nearly ash. All that stood from it were two walls and the skeleton frame that now crawled with flames. He was clutching Otetiani, Kaiya’s youngest sibling, to his chest. The one-year-old was bawling, clutching Kanatase’s shirt in tiny fists. Kaiya hadn’t even known Otetiani was in the village. Thank god Kanatase spotted him.

“Have you seen Dega?” Halona asked, desperate for good news.

“No, I-” He paused, glancing up. His eyes widened and he screamed, “Look out!”

Kaiya and Halona jumped back, and so did Kanatase, but they did so in opposite directions. A giant totem pole carved with the faces of a bear, wolf, and turtle came crashing down, slamming through the building’s frame and decimating everything in its path. Flames spewed in every direction, and when Kaiya could manage squinting through it all, she saw Kanatase’s torso wedged between pieces of debris.

“Kana!” She cried, immediately coming to his side and trying to pull the giant chunks away from him. “Halona, help me!”

Halona grabbed onto a log of the frame and yanked as hard as she could, digging her heels into the ground to gain leverage. It shifted a fraction of an inch before slipping back into place, making Kanatase yelp.

“Push from the other side!” Halona told him. Obediently, he nodded and put the hand that wasn’t wrapped around Otetiani into position. “On the count of three. One! Two! Three!”

The trio exerted their full strength, but the logs were far too big and barely moved, even with all the adrenaline pumping in their veins.

“It won’t work!” Kanatase shouted over the splintering of trees falling in the forest outside the decimated longhouse. “We can’t move it!”

“We will!” Kaiya insisted. “We have to!”

He shook his head. “No, we can’t. Kaiya, you have to take Otetiani.” Kanatase was able to fit his arms through a gap and pass Otetiani to Kaiya, though the baby’s forehead scraped against the jagged, splintered wood of the pole. Otetiani started to cry harder, flailing in Kaiya’s arms. “You have to take him and run!”

“I won’t! I can’t abandon you!” Kaiya answered.

“You have to. Kaiya, listen to me. You can’t save me. But you can save Otetiani. So you have to take him.”

“You’re my brother!”

“So is he.” Kanatase insisted. “I know it’s hard, but it has to be done. It’s the right thing to do. What good will it do our family for all three of us to die here?”

Kaiya turned to Halona and managed to get out, “You take him and leave,” through her tears.

Halona shook her head. “No. You can’t stay, and I have to keep looking for Deganawidah.”

“The fire is too severe. We just have to hope Dega got out on his own. Now you need to leave before you die, too. I’ll go when it gets too dangerous here, but I have to know you and Otetiani are okay.”

“No, Kaiya! I know you. You won’t leave here when you have to. You’ll burn up before you leave Kanatase.”

“Please, ‘Lona, please! You have to take him and save yourself. For me.”

“No. Absolutely not. Either both of us leave here, or neither of us leaves.” Halona insisted.

Kaiya took a shuddering breath, searching desperately for the words that would change her mind. “Halona, you have to. I know you don’t want to go, and I know you don’t like leaving me here, but there’s _nothing_ I want more right now.”

“But-”

“Halona, this is what I’m asking you for. I rarely ask you for things. But right now, this is what I need. Please… If you love me, take Otetiani. Save my little brother for me. Please.”

Slowly, Halona took Otetiani into her arms and stared down at him. When she looked back up, tears were streaming down her cheeks. “Please don’t make me do this.”

“Hey,” Kaiya said with a small smile. “I love you, okay? And I believe in you.”

“I… I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. This is what I want. So thank you.”

Halona looked at Kanatase, who gave her a nod that said, _‘You know what you have to do. And I want you to do it.’_

So, swallowing the last of her hesitation, Halona clamped her hand over Kaiya’s wrist. Kaiya blinked at her, confused. “Halona? What are you doing?”

“I can’t lose you.”

“What?”

She jerked Kaiya toward the exit forcibly, and suddenly, Kaiya understood. Her eyes widened, and she started to resist, scrambling for footing as her shoes slipped in the dirt. “No, no, no! Wait, Halona, don’t do this!”

Halona didn’t say a word. She had made up her mind. With a clenched jaw, she pulled harder, dragging Kaiya away from her brother and overpowering her. No matter how hard Kaiya thrashed and struggled, the rough grip that Halona had on her didn’t weaken. If anything, it only got tighter. “Stop! Halona, stop! Let me go! He’s my brother, I have to stay with him! Halona, I said stop!”

Behind them, Kaiya caught Kanatase’s voice calling, one last time, “I love you!”

Kaiya was able to turn around, getting a final glimpse of Kanatase, who was smiling, relieved, but that was all she saw before the rest of Halona’s arm wrapped around her and yanked her away while she kicked ferociously.

“Hold still,” Halona said through gritted teeth. “Please don’t make this harder than it has to be.”

“Stop, please, Halona, stop!” Kaiya sobbed. “Don’t do this! Don’t do this to me!”

They exited the longhouse just as the walls fell in, turning the place where her brother was into a pile of fire.

“No!” Kaiya screamed. “KANA! _KANA!”_


	34. Rendezvous

"I know no way of judging the future but by the past." -John Adams

Halona knelt in the ashes, sweeping them aside with her hand to reveal the tip of an arrow. Carefully, she lifted it and blew off the remnants of her home.

“Did you find something?” Kaiya asked quietly, crouching beside her.

“Just an arrowhead. It doesn’t have a shaft.”

Kaiya held out a shard of hardened clay in her palm. “I found a piece of pottery.”

She looked out at the desolate remains of the village numbly. “We’re not going to find them, you know. They didn’t make it.”

“I know. But I’m not ready to say that yet.” She clenched her fist around the broken shard. “I… Halona, why didn’t you let me stay?”

“Because if I did, you’d never leave.”

“And if that was what I wanted?”

“I love you too much to let you die. So maybe it was selfish of me, but I decided that I couldn’t do it without you.” Halona put the arrowhead into her satchel and stood. White powder covered her shins and only got on her more when she dropped down further away to dig.

Her hand brushed a smoldering ember that she didn’t see at first. Halona flinched, hissed, and jerked her hand back, clutching it with her other one.

“You okay?” Kaiya asked, crouching beside her.

“I’m fine.”

They were quiet for a moment. Then, “I would have done the same thing if our roles were reversed.”

“So you’re not mad?”

“Only a little.”

Faintly, Halona nodded as she pulled half of a dream catcher from the bits of their longhouse. She smiled sadly. “Remember this?”

“Remember what?” Kaiya peered down at it, “Oh. You made that.”

“Yeah. We were little, and you kept having a nightmare about a purple bear eating you, so I made you this to keep it away.”

“I never had that nightmare again.”

Carefully, Halona put the fragment in her bag. “Our dolls are probably gone.”

“They were made of cornhusks. I’m sure they were obliterated,” Kaiya said, laughing just a bit, but it had no joy behind it.

It wasn’t just their village that was destroyed. The fire had latched onto the nearby trees and spread rapidly, burning for a week and taking out a chunk of the forest before they chopped down enough trees to prevent it from expanding anymore.

Within that week, they had fled to another Oneida village nearby that had accepted them with open arms. They sorted through all the people to determine who was there and who was missing.

That was the word they used. Missing. No one wanted to say dead. They were just… missing.

Among those missing were Kanatase, Okwaho, and Deganawidah. Aarushi and Aliquippa had been injured, both shot by the soldiers before they were satisfied with the carnage. Halona’s brother, Rastawehserondah, lugged them both to safety. Aliquippa was recovering, but Aarushi bled out just before they reached the other village.

Two more of Kaiya’s little sisters were injured in the fire. Halona had two sisters and a brother hurt, but most of the injured were predicted to recover.

They’d each lost two siblings, but neither had even spoken their names since the day of the fire. With each step, they wondered what they were standing on the ashes of. Was it a home? Was it one of their friends? Was it their sibling?

Gingerly, Halona lifted a necklace smeared with soot. She didn’t recognize it as belonging to anyone specific, so she put it in her bag without much more thought. “There’s not much left, is there?”

“No.” Kaiya kicked some coals aside with her shoe and grabbed something from beneath them. Then she sucked in a breath.

Halona turned around. “What is it?”

Kaiya held a small, charred jawbone in her hands delicately. She looked up and around at the other Oneidas searching through the rubble for anything salvageable. It was very quiet. All conversations were hushed, so even though it was the procedure, she felt uncomfortable shouting, “Over here!”

A man from the village they were staying in wheeled his cart over and grabbed a cloth sack from it. He accepted the bone from her and put it in the bag.

“Where did you find it?”

“There,” she said, pointing.

He stooped to sift through the debris and began collecting any other remains he could find.

They didn’t want to leave their friends and families in the bleak, burnt wasteland, so it had been decided that they would collect any remains they found in separate bags to give a proper burial to each person they found.

“Do you know what was standing here?” He asked.

Kaiya stared at the sack when he tied it shut. “Our house.”

The man nodded and gave her a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. “I’m sorry.” And then he left, coming to the aid of someone else who had summoned him upon finding someone. Kaiya’s gaze remained on the cart, unwavering.

“Kaiya?” Halona whispered.

She kept watching the cart. “Do you think that was Okie?”

Dread punched Halona in the gut. She had tried not to wonder who it was, but now that Kaiya mentioned it, their home was probably where Okwaho would have gone. The thought that she was hiding in there, probably terrified until her end, broke Halona’s heart.

“Maybe. Maybe not.”

“They were small,” Kaiya said, leaving out the word ‘bones’ for peace of mind, “They easily could have belonged to a seven-year-old.”

“If it was her, she’s going to get the funeral she deserves. You found her, and you’re giving her proper closure.”

Kaiya didn’t let herself cry. “I should have found her earlier.”

“You couldn’t have known where she was.”

“I should have done better. I should have saved Okie. I should have stayed with Kanatase. I should have been there for them.”

“It’s not your fault. If it’s anyone’s fault, it’s mine. I was the one that took you away from them.”

She shook her head firmly. “No. It’s _their_ fault.”

“Whose?”

“The soldiers. They are the ones that burned my brother and sister alive.”.

Halona swallowed dryly. She hated thinking about how Degawanidah and the others must have suffered before their deaths. “You’re right.”

“Is it England’s fault, too?” Kaiya asked, slowly sinking back down into the remnants of their home.

“I don’t know. If he ordered it- yes. But I don’t think he did.”

“How do you know?”

“He’s with General Howe, who is focused on taking down Washington. He doesn’t care enough to order an attack on a native village.”

Kaiya nodded slowly. “I’m sorry about Aarushi and Dega.”

“I’m sorry about Okie and Kana.”

“I’m glad you’re okay. Thank you for taking Otetiani and for leaving, even if it wasn’t the way I wanted it to happen. I was worried you wouldn’t go.”

Halona smiled a little. “I knew you couldn’t leave Kana. The only way you’d ever leave was if someone made you. And besides, you’d feel guilty any other way.”

“I still feel guilty.”

“More guilty, then.”

She traced her pointer finger through the gray and white powder in swirling, nonsensical patterns. “What are we going to do now?”

“I don’t know,” Halona admitted. “Rebuild, I guess. Maybe merge with the other village if they let us.”

“No, I mean _us._ What are _we_ going to do?”

“Go back to Boston, get River from the Jenkinses, reopen the bookshop, and try to cope with what happened.”

Kaiya’s brow knitted. “Can we leave our families right now? We both still have nine siblings, and I have my parents. Don’t you think they need us?”

“Yes, but I can’t be here. It hurts too much,” She murmured, voice cracking at the end. “It hurts so, so much.”

“We can’t run from grief. We have to face it.”

“Can’t we face it in Boston?”

“You can’t leave Aliquippa here to deal with the damage alone, especially since she’s hurt. Aarushi wanted you to stay and support your family when your mother died, remember? Now she’s gone. The best you can do is honor her by staying.”

Halona was silent for a moment. “Okay. But we have to go back eventually.”

“Of course.”

Again, she didn’t speak for a second. “Kaiya?”

“Hmm?”

“I want to join the war.”

She blinked. “What?”

“We’ve only been there for America once in a while because I never felt like it was _my_ fight. I was there because I was his friend. But now the redcoats have killed my brother and my sister. I don’t want them to get away with it. I _won’t_ let them get away with it.”

Kaiya sighed. “I thought you’d say that. If… if that is truly what would help you heal, I’ll come with. I meant what I said to you, ‘Lona. I’ll be with you as long as I have lungs to breathe and a heart to beat.”

Her eyes squeezed shut. “But I don’t want you fighting. You could get hurt, and I can’t lose you, too.”

“Then I won’t. I’m not a warrior, anyway. I’ll help the injured.”

“You’d really do that?” Halona asked, reopening green eyes that had seen too much and staring at Kaiya.

She clasped her hand around the ring that hung from her neck. “Lungs and heart, Halona. Lungs and heart.”

*************

16 November 1777

Dearest America,

Congratulations on your victory at Saratoga! I am deeply impressed. To take 6,600 prisoners is significant. I hope it knocks England down a peg. King Louis is also impressed. You have truly come into your own and are doing magnificently. You’ll be excited to know that my king is ready to enter formal negotiations for an alliance and declaration of war on Great Britain.

Your diplomats, Franklin, Deane, and Lee are very entertaining, by the way. Franklin is a devil and extremely popular with French women. Deane is very pleasant to work with, just as you said, but Lee is exceptional. He is, to be frank, an asshole, but what can you do?

In response to your question, yes, Deane is just fine. He and Lee can’t stand each other, and Lee constantly has rude things to say, but they don’t seem to affect him much. Especially since Franklin is on his side, ready to say something quippy and clever to Lee whenever he insults him. 

I quite like Franklin. Promiscuous, a little lewd, always thinking ahead, and adventurous- he’s a wonderful companion.

Is it true that Canadian forces supported you at Saratoga? Did you see Canada? How is he? Is he well? And Louisiana, is she still fading? Have you seen her?

What about England? Have you seen him lately? Please tell me how you are concerning him. You need to talk about it. It’s not good to bottle it up, and as wonderful as General Washington sounds, you need someone that you don’t see as a father to counsel you as well.

How is the marquis? He has arrived, yes? What do you think of him? He was very eager to go but also very nervous. Does he know of your identity? Did you tell him about me?

The situation with my king and queen’s marriage is as hopeless as ever. They finally consummated it, and yet we have no heir. I’m beginning to wonder if infertility is playing a role in this. We have suggested a circumcision that may help with impregnating the queen, but he has outright refused the operation. I don’t blame him, though. I wouldn’t want such a thing to happen to me. Either way, it’s looking like the royal House of Bourbon family line will die with Louis.

As for my queen, her reputation is in a steady decline. In the beginning, she was well-liked, but she spends so much money while the economy declines even faster. She truly is a sweet woman with good intentions. I like her, and I would hate to see her scorned like other queens of the past that the public found unsatisfactory.

Economics. Yes, that is an issue right now. My people are gravely poor. Some are starving, and all are working like dogs just to buy bread. I want to help them, and I press Louis all the time, but it’s not working. He’s indecisive and never commits to any action. I wish he would understand what his fickleness is doing to his subjects. Having a good ruler in an absolute monarchy is wonderful, but it's difficult when you have a poor one. Sometimes I envy England’s Parliament. But don’t tell him that.

Your idea of a constitution intrigues me. It sounds like a good thing, and so do these Articles of Confederation that you have drafted. I hesitate to admit it, but my thinking keeps becoming more and more enlightened. I’ve read some of the publishings of your man Thomas Paine. He sure has a way with a pen. His words are very inspiring, and I keep a copy of Common Sense in my drawer at Versailles (the locked one, of course, I wouldn’t want a maid stumbling upon revolutionary ideas).

Speaking of Versailles, I have moved there. I still own the mansion in Paris, of course, but I have decided that with so much unrest, it would be best to settle closer to my government where I can help more.

But enough about me. I’m so sorry to hear what happened to Kaiya and Halona. I can’t imagine what they must be going through right now, and I am glad they are choosing to stay with their families for a while. They need that support. Do you know who exactly set the fire? Was it the actions of some unruly soldiers, or was it a planned attack ordered by someone higher up on the chain of command? If it was prearranged, be sure to smash that general to pieces.

Keep your head up, America. I have a feeling that things are going to change from here on out and work in your favor.

Your friend,

France

************

December 18, 1777

Dear France,

Thank you for your encouragement and your work with my diplomats. I’m so glad the king is finally thinking about joining the war. When it comes to negotiations, you’re in great hands with Silas and Dr. Franklin.

You’re right about Franklin being a promiscuous sort. He’s a charmer, and he’s popular among women here, too. I’ve never pursued, nor will I pursue a non-platonic relationship with him, but I’ve heard he’s fun for a fling.

I’m so happy you’re getting along with Silas. He’s a great person to have around, and I hope that you two become friends. Oh, and tell Lee, ‘fuck you’ from me.

Yes, Canadians joined us in Saratoga. There is a very powerful family called the Livingstons in New York who are patriots. One of them, James Livingston, recruited some Canadians to our side, served as a spy for a while, and took command of the 1st Canadian Regiment. They helped Colonel Daniel Morgan by taking a center position and did a good job. Canada wasn’t there, but I got a letter from him recently. He feels stressed out and like he can’t do anything to help. I told him that I just appreciate his support, but he still feels bad. You know how he shoulders responsibility for things that aren’t his fault.

I haven’t seen Louisiana, but I’m fairly sure she is still fading. I’m very sorry. I know you saw her as a daughter.

England, I have seen. A few months ago, he nearly killed me in battle. It was scary, but he regrets it. According to one of my soldiers, he saved his daughter when New York caught on fire and asked him to deliver an apology. At the same time, he hasn’t done a single thing to help with the prison ship conditions. I keep feeling weaker because of them, and it's an outrage how they treat their captives. The redcoats in our care are pampered compared to my men.

Still, I can’t get him out of my head. I feel like he’s always there, always pulling me slowly back into him. I’ve spent many a sleepless night thinking about him, and he’s in all of my dreams. I’m not sure what it is- sexual frustration? Love? Desperation? Obsessiveness? All I know is that he's driving me insane.

The marquis, or, as we’ve been calling him, Lafayette, is very helpful. He led a surprise attack in New Jersey that went well, and he’s liked by everyone, including me. His optimism is a relief to me, and he makes it much easier to weather this brutal winter.

Yes, he knows who I am, and he had a lot of questions about you. When I told him what you use as a human name, he was shocked that he had met you. He wants to see you when he returns home, and he’s delighted at the concept.

We’ve had some battles since I last wrote to you. Most of them were small skirmishes and uneventful. We helped out the Pennsylvania militia, too, and despite it being a cold winter, we’re managing. We’re on our way to Valley Forge now, and we’re almost there. By tomorrow, I should be sleeping in my cabin. I told Addison that under no circumstances is he to bring a girl back tomorrow night. Tomorrow is for sleeping.

Something fun happened today, though! Congress issued a proclamation, and we will now be celebrating a new holiday we call Thanksgiving annually on December 18th. We had to listen to a sermon, but we had an amazing dinner: roast pig and rice! It was delicious and a great morale booster for the troops.

Sorry to hear about your monarchs, but I don’t blame your king for refusing the surgery. I wouldn’t want it. Maybe it’s just some bad luck and they’ll have a child eventually. Don’t give up on them yet. If they do have a son, don’t let them name him Louis again. You don’t need a 17th Louis, no matter how much 16 likes his name.

Have you spoken to your queen about her spending habits? Perhaps she is unaware of the impact that it has on your people. Maybe if you explain it, she will listen, because it sounds horrible. If we win this war, though, that could help. You could take some territories back that would generate a lot of income. The British West Indies make a lot of money, and it would be nice to reunite them with their siblings in the French West Indies. Or you could try to take back your old territories. Hell, you could even take both.

It’s exciting to hear that you are interested in Paine’s works. He’s a fantastic writer, bold, and strongly opinionated. I admire his courage. Maybe, next time I see you, we could discuss his works over some muffins from the Jenkins’ bakery. Or, if I see you in Versailles, I’d love to visit the palace, if you’d have me. Perhaps I could even meet some of the characters of your court that you mention in your letters.

As for Kaiya and Halona, you are absolutely right. What has happened to their village is tragic. I was livid for a time, but I forced myself to calm down before I boiled over. Unfortunately, I don’t know who set the fire. If I find out, I promise to confront them.

Thank you for all of your support from the beginning of this till now and for the help from here on out. I hope to hear from you soon.

Sincerely,

America

*************

America paced the length of his cabin. It was really getting to him- not having England around. Without him there to tell him what to do and defend his government's unacceptable actions, it was easy to forget about all the reasons being with him was so difficult and become enraptured with him all over again.

For days, all he’d been seeing were green eyes, soft blond hair, and his smile in everything. Something had to give, or his mind was going to melt.

His pacing gained speed. He wanted England- no, he needed England.

But England wasn’t there.

His pacing stopped and he made a decision.

It was almost like he was in a daze as he pulled on his coat and crept out of the camp. It was almost like he wasn’t in control of himself when he mounted a horse and took off toward New York City, where Howe’s forces were spending the winter. And it was almost like he had lost his mind when, the next night, he tied his horse to a post, slipped past the sentinels, and searched for the British headquarters.

Finding it wasn’t hard. It was one of the nicest and largest houses with a guard stationed outside and England’s spare pair of boots beside the doorway of the small left-wing. Predictable- he always stayed with his generals in big buildings with lots of rooms. Obviously, he had the left-wing all to himself.

He approached the door to England’s section of the house boldly. When he saw his outline, the soldier on duty raised his musket. “Oy, you! Show yourself!”

America was too far for the soldier to identify the color of his coat in the darkness. With a flawless impersonation of a British accent, he faked confusion. “What’re you going on about?”

He lowered his gun. “No one’s allowed this close to headquarters at night. You know the rules. Go back to wherever you’re staying.”

“I want to speak with Lieutenant General Kirkland if you don’t mind,” America replied. “It’s about one of the horses.”

“Go talk to Blake. He’s in charge of them.”

America scoffed and drew on his repertoire of British words he had once used before his own culture developed. “As if that bloke has the foggiest idea what he’s doing. It’s important.”

“Sorry, no can do.”

Guess they were doing this the hard way.

America marched up and pushed past the soldier to throw open the door and slam it behind him, turning the lock. He entered a dim hallway and turned the knob of the first room, but it was empty. The second was some kind of storage.

Down the hall, the keyhole made a clicking noise as the guard shoved his keys inside. Quickly, America entered the third room.

England was there, writing something down at a desk. He looked up, startled, as the soldier barged in after America.

“I’m sorry, sir, I tried to-”

“It’s alright. Leave us.”

The soldier looked between them uneasily, especially now that he could see the color of America’s coat, but nodded, stepping back out and assuming America was a spy coming back to report. The door fell shut, leaving them alone.

England got up apprehensively. “America… what are you doing here?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he strode forward to seize England by the chin and hip, jerking him forward and slamming their lips together.

England, shocked, didn’t respond at first. His hands were still at his sides, tense and unsure until he began kissing back with even more intensity and his fingers found their way into America’s hair, gently tugging near the nape of his neck- just the way America liked.

They broke for a breath, and America began kissing down his neck. England released a shuddering sigh. “I- I don’t understand. Why are you here? And- ah!”

He was cut off when America bit down, not hard enough to perforate the skin but enough to hurt. That was more than alright with England, though, and he gasped, a shiver running down his spine. His grip on America’s hair tightened as he leaned into him, unable to resist his touch.

America continued his work as his hands slid down to the buttons of England’s crimson jacket, undoing them as quickly as he could until he could throw it to the floor and lift England up, setting him on the desk and yanking him close as he began working on England’s shirt.

“America, w- we’re at war,” England said.

America finally got England’s shirt off but paused at the statement. “So?”

For a moment, nothing happened.

“Fuck it,” England decided, grabbing America’s collar to drag him back into a kiss and begin to undo the buttons of the Continental blue coat Washington had given him.

America wiggled out of it once England had gotten the last button unclasped and started to drift from his neck to his collarbone, nipping as he went and leaving marks along his otherwise smooth, unblemished skin.

England tried to switch their positions, but America caught his wrists, gripping and exerting his extra strength. “Not tonight, England.”

He raised his brows in surprise. “You’re going to…?”

America nodded and shoved him down on the desk. England hit the wood forcefully. There was a dull throbbing in his skull from where it smacked the surface, but how could he possibly notice it when America had pulled him to the edge of the desk by the hips and leaned over him, taking off his own shirt without ceasing his descent down England’s chest?

England almost told America that he was topping, just like every time before, and that there was no way in hell he’d let America take control. He was the British Empire, after all, and outside this room, he would dominate America on the battlefield. Why should inside be any different? It almost felt like surrendering to let him press him down into the desk, which he most certainly was not going to do.

But when America ran his hands down England’s sides, fingers skimming over his ribs, he couldn’t help but gasp sharply and give in.


	35. Prussia and the Baron

“The time is now near at hand which must determine whether Americans are to be freemen or slaves.” -George Washington

“You did _what?”_

America winced, scratching the back of his neck uncomfortably. “Yeah, it probably wasn’t a good idea. I’m seeing that now.”

Washington was livid. “‘It probably wasn’t a good idea’ is the understatement of the year! Someone could have captured or killed you!”

“I know, I just-”

“America, I have done my best to be patient with you, but you have directly disobeyed me multiple times, taken unnecessary risks, undermined my authority, and acted rashly while going behind my back one too many times!”

Unconsciously, America backed away. “I didn’t think you'd be angry.”

“What?” The general demanded, halting his pacing across his cabin. “You have to be kidding me. Why would you think I wouldn’t be when you were doing such risky things? How could you ever say to yourself, ‘Yes, I’m going to sneak away to New York without telling anyone where I am going, cross enemy lines, walk right into the most dangerous zone I could possibly infiltrate, reveal myself to a high-ranking member of the enemy’s army to have sex with him, and then I’ll sneak away! That sounds safe and reasonable!’”

“You’re right. It was stupid,” America admitted, avoiding eye-contact.

“Stupid? It was downright idiotic! You were gone for three days, America! Do you know how worried I was? Or how worried your cabin-mate was? We all thought you had been taken hostage! The other generals and I were plotting a rescue mission! If you had returned just six hours later, we would have already launched the attack!”

America stared at the floor. “I’m sorry, sir.”

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I just worry about you, son. I don’t want you to get hurt. I am trying my best to be lenient. I didn’t get mad when you met with England in the woods or when you infiltrated Boston or when you went into battle against my orders. But you have to stop doing things like this.”

“I will, sir. I won’t sneak out again.”

Washington eyed him warily, heading for the door. “Good. I’m going back to headquarters.”

“Wait!”

He paused. “What?”

“Are you going to tell the other generals why I left?”

“No,” Washington said with irritation, “I’ll say you went to help a friend escape from the city.”

His shoulders fell. “Thank you, sir; that’s a relief. Really, thank you!”

“Don’t do it again.”

With his final order hanging over the cabin, he left, and the door fell shut. America released a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. Phew. Crisis avoided.

The door slammed open. Addison entered and shut it again, equally as rough. Maybe America spoke too soon.

“America! Where have you been? Why was Washington here? What happened?”

“One- New York. Two- to chew me out for being in New York. And three- I went to see England.”

Addison smirked, wiggling his eyebrows and teasingly asking, “For sex?”

His face flushed. “No!”

But America wasn’t a good liar when it came to things that embarrassed him, and Addison’s jaw dropped. “No way! I was joking but damn! You did all that for a fuck? _You?”_

“You sneak out of camp to seduce women all the time!” America protested.

He scoffed. “Yeah, in towns nearby. Not in New York City, while being a high-ranking, recognizable patriot, waltzing onto my enemy’s turf.”

He shrugged. “Ok, that’s a fair point.”

“I thought you were kidnapped,” Addison said nonchalantly.

“Nope. I’m here just in time for Christmas.”

“You sure skated in at the last moment,” Addison remarked, glancing at the door, outside of which lay Valley Forge, wrapped in snow and darkness.

America shrugged off his coat. “Well, I have good news. I think we’re close to an alliance with the French.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah, and if we succeed in signing a treaty, France will probably come over. You’d like him.” America paused, considering. “You kind of remind me of him.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re both very confident and comfortable in your identity.”

A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Thanks.”

Behind them, a knock hit the door rhythmically. Both residents of the cabin called, “Come in!”

Hamilton entered with wide eyes. “You’re back! America, we thought you were dead.”

“Hey, Hamilton. Sorry to disappoint,” America joked.

“Washington said you snuck a friend out of New York. Is that true? Who was it? What happened?” 

“Why are you asking so many questions?” Addison cut in. “It’s none of your business.”

“Shut up, Durham. He doesn’t mind sharing, right, America?”

Addison spoke before America could answer. “As if he’d say anything to you and your big mouth. Piss off, Hamilton, this isn’t your cabin.”

“If you’re so bothered, why don’t _you_ leave?” Hamilton challenged.

“I live here!”

“You’re an empty-headed, inebriated southerner without a thought in his brain or a wisp of passion in his soul for anything but booze and women!”

He snarled back, “And you’re a stuck-up dick. Your point?”

“Guys, knock it off,” America interrupted. “Addison, cool it. Hamilton, leave him alone.”

Both looked at him like he’d just slapped them in the face, but it was Hamilton who haughtily answered, “Whatever, America. I’m glad you’re alive. Don’t be late for drills tomorrow, Durham.”

Spinning on his heel and pretending he had real authority, Hamilton stormed out of the cabin and slammed the door.

“Don’t tell me to ‘cool it,’” Addison said grudgingly.

America rolled his eyes and kicked off his boots, deciding it was time to get ready for bed. “Fine.” 

“I hate that guy,” he grumbled while throwing open his chest. “He’s so arrogant. He’s all like, ‘Oh, I’m Alexander Hamilton, and I’m so smart! I know so much more than you, and that makes me better!’ and ‘Shut up, Durham, I’m talking, and I like the sound of my voice too much for you to dare speak in my presence!’”

America chuckled and undid the lock on his trunk. “Well, you’re not wrong.”

“It’s people like him that make me want to leave.”

America froze, halfway through pulling his cravat off. “What?”

“Oh yeah, I didn’t tell you!”

“Tell me what?”

Addison shimmied out of his shirt and tugged his shoes off his feet. “I’m thinking about leaving the army.”

“Why? I thought you wanted independence.”

“I do. I’m not going to abandon you,” Addison said, getting into his nightshirt. “If I left the army, I’d join the Navy. See, I grew up on the coast of South Carolina. My father taught me to sail a sailboat when I was six. By ten, I was making trips to Georgia all by myself. When I was fifteen, I moved to Massachusetts to work in a shipyard. A year later, I was a courier traveling up and down the coast, and then I joined a crew of smugglers. I must have sailed across the Atlantic fifteen times, and I loved it. The ship was docked in Boston during that riot when we met, and not long later, I happened to be onshore when the war broke out. I believed in the cause, so I signed up for the army since you didn’t have a Navy yet. But I’d be better on the seas. Besides, Britain is the world’s dominant naval power. You need all the sailors you can get. And I hear they’re better paid.”

“I can’t say I wouldn’t miss you if you left, but I could put in a good word for you and get you on a good crew.”

He grinned. “Really?”

“Sure. There’s a man, Captain John Paul Jones, who is incredible. He’s a lot like you: tenacious, brave, and strong-willed. You’d make a good team.”

“He sounds like someone I’d like sailing with.”

America climbed into bed. “So you’re leaving, then?”

“I don’t know,” He admitted, wiggling under the covers of his bed and blowing out the candle on his nightstand. The room plunged into darkness. “I might or I might not. I’ve got friends here like you and Patrick Wells. Speaking of, I promised him I’d spend Christmas with him tomorrow if we weren’t in battle because you were gone, and I figured you’d stay ‘kidnapped’ for a few more days.”

“That’s okay. I’ll spend it with the general and the aides.”

Despite the fact that America couldn’t see him, Addison smiled. “Thanks.”

“No problem. Now go to sleep and please, please, _please_ don’t wake me up in the middle of the night asking me if I think there are things that can only be sensed outside of our limited perception and what they are. I’m too tired for that.”

“Okay.”

America rolled over and let his eyelids fall shut, curling into himself for warmth. He was almost asleep when Addison asked, “America? If someone altered your memory and made you forget that it was altered, how would you ever know your memories got changed?”

“Addison, I swear to god I’m going to kill you.”

*************

8 February 1778

Dearest America,

You will be pleased to know that this is the last letter I will write to you for quite some time; therefore it will be brief. I sent you a document not long ago laying out the details of the alliance. It will soon be signed! We will declare war on the British Empire, and preparations will be made.

As I promised, I will be crossing the Atlantic right away, and I will send a friend ahead of me. Your troops need training in a critical way if the summary you gave me in your last letter is anything to go on. So I have recruited the master of training and discipline: Prussia. His armies are small but fierce, as you well know. They are better regulated than any other army in the world. He’s interested in you and your cause, so he is crossing the sea alongside a baron of his that served in his military, Baron Friedrich Wilhelm von Steuben. The baron is a friend of your Silas and Doctor Franklin. Since your government has been reluctant to appoint foreign military officers, they each wrote him a glowing letter of recommendation, so trust me, your men will be in good hands.

I hope you can add a bunk to your cabin before my arrival. If not, that is alright; I’d be happy to stay with the marquis. As for Prussia, I believe you two have met once in the past, so if you and your bunkmate, Addison, would find it acceptable, perhaps he could stay in the cabin, too. Once again, if not, that is alright, though I don’t think he should bunk with the baron. The baron has frequent relations and doesn’t know Prussia yet (they will meet on the ship), so it may be uncomfortable. Do whatever you see fit.

I am very excited to see you and join you. You know there’s nothing I love more than kicking England’s ass. Except, perhaps, _fougasse._

Until we see one another,

France

*************

Kaiya shifted the basket in her arms. “We’re close, right?”

Halona nodded. “Valley Forge is just on the other side of that hill. Come on, everyone.”

The long, winding trail of Oneidas snaked behind them. Kaiya rode atop Angeni, barely balancing the basket in her arms and trying not to bump the baskets strapped to the horse’s sides. Angeni didn’t mind, though. She was as calm and well-behaved as ever.

Eyota, on the other hand, wasn’t fond of their trip. He hated the sacks strapped to him more than the Boston stables, which was saying something. Halona knew he was unhappy, but there wasn’t much she could do besides scratch his neck sometimes.

Other horses snorted and clopped their hooves against the snowy path behind them, all equally loaded with baggage. Because of all the extra weight and biting February wind, it had taken much longer than expected to get to their destination. Halona only hoped that all the Continentals weren’t dead by the time they got there, or this would be a big waste of time.

Their group crested the hill, alerting sentinels, some of whom darted back toward the camp. Halona pulled Eyota to a stop, halting the procession to give them time to get their leaders. She wouldn’t want a miscommunication to cost her tribe any more lives.

A few minutes later, she saw two men in blue jackets looking out from far away. One passed an eyeglass to the other and shouted something at the soldiers still stationed there. They lowered their guns, which Halona took as a signal to continue.

When they got closer, one of the two men trudged through the snow to meet them. The girls would have smiled if he didn’t look so terrible.

“Alfred?”

His skin was much less tan, his hair lacked its usual shine, and the dark circles under his eyes were pronounced. He looked weak and very, very tired when he stared up at her. “Hey. What are you doing here?”

Right away, Kaiya swung off Angeni and tramped through the snow to grab his arms and examine him. “I heard you and your men were struggling, but I had no idea it was this bad.”

He smiled feebly. “I’m fine.”

“You look like shit,” Halona supplied.

“No, I don’t.”

“Yes, you do. Don’t you have a mirror or something?”

America paused. “Well, no.”

“Well, I haven’t seen you in months, so I can be a good judge, and I say that you look like someone chewed you up, spit you out, and stomped on you.”

“Thanks.”

“She means that you look unwell,” Kaiya cut in. “Haven’t you been eating?”

“Some, but I take the same rations as the rest of the soldiers. We don’t have a lot of food on hand.”

Halona grinned. “Lucky for you, that’s what these bags and baskets are full of.”

His eyes widened. “You brought food?”

“Pretty much all of it is white corn, but yeah. We also brought blankets because we heard you didn’t have enough of those.”

He smiled so wide his chapped lower lip split. “Oh my god, thank you! Thank you so much!”

“Whoa there, don’t get too excited,” Halona said and reached a hand down. “You’ll faint. Come here and get on. Eyota and I will give you a ride back to camp.”

America took her hand and pulled himself up onto Eyota’s back, silently thanking his lucky stars that he didn’t have to walk back. Kaiya remounted and coaxed Angeni forward. Slowly, the stream of Oneidas made its way into Valley Forge.

Washington was over the moon to hear the good news, and when they started unpacking the bags, the soldiers launched forward to get their hands on the corn.

Halona shouted a command in her language, and the natives surged to meet them, holding them back.

“What’s going on?” General Washington asked, suddenly alarmed.

“It’s white corn, and you’ve been starving,” She informed him. “If you eat it uncooked, it’ll swell in your stomach and kill you. Stop your men.”

“Halt!” The general bellowed. “We must wait for it to be cooked!”

Met with protests, he explained the situation. Most of the soldiers sunk into the snow, staring at the food like wild animals. A few still had to be restrained, but the Oneidas set about preparing the food as fast as possible.

White corn takes longer to cook than yellow corn, so it was with great impatience that America watched Kaiya cook. He made conversation to distract himself. “So, how have you been?”

She shrugged. “Alright, I guess. Our village burned down five months ago.”

“I heard about that. What happened?”

“Redcoats came in and set it on fire. They shot people running away. Two of my brothers died. What else can I say?”

“Your brothers died? I didn’t know about that. Which ones?”

“Kanatase and Okwaho.”

His face fell. “Shit. I’m so sorry.”

“Aarushi and Degawanidah died, too. So don’t bring them up to Halona.”

“Oh my god. I had no idea. How are you two doing? How are your families?”

“We’re coping. We have each other, which is a great help. Our families are coping, too. I think everyone’s just trying to do their best with what they have now, you know?”

He nodded. “Yeah, I understand that.”

“We’re staying with you, though.”

“You are?”

“Yes. Halona wants to fight, and I said I’d take care of the injured. Do you think that would be possible?”

“Yeah. I mean, you’re Oneida, so you don’t have to adhere to all of the same rules as the Continentals, so even if Halona’s a woman, she can fight. She’s done it before, albeit in a more temporary sense. If anyone raises a stink about it, I’ll deal with them. And you shouldn’t face any problems being a nurse.”

“Okay.” Her hazel eyes flickered with the reflection of the fire, and she stared at it with a strange expression somewhere between frightened, thoughtful, and sad. “Do you have any good news? I could use some.”

America nodded. “Yes, actually. The treaty with King Louis will soon be signed. France is coming to visit, and so is Prussia, who is bringing a baron of sorts. I don’t remember his full title.”

“When will they get here?”

“Prussia and his baron will arrive somewhere around February 22nd or 23rd. France will take longer- he won’t be here until March.”

“Prussia- what’s he like?”

He chuckled. “Loud, brazen, confident… Stubborn, too. Very stubborn. He’s also easily irritated, but he’s loyal and committed.”

“He sounds like you.”

“What? No way. Prussia is way cockier than I am. It seems like he’s still better at maintaining relationships than I am, though, no matter how conceited he can be. It’s not fair.”

“Who is he in a relationship with?”

“Austria. They have a daughter, Liechtenstein, who’s an angel. She’s young, so Austria will probably look after her while Prussia is away. She’ll be fine. Still, I feel kind of guilty pulling her father away from her.”

Kaiya shrugged. “Well, it’s Prussia’s choice. Besides, you all are immortal. She’ll have plenty of time to see him when he comes home.”

“That’s a good point. Anyway, you probably won’t like him very much, but he means well.”

“I promise I’ll do my best to tolerate him.”

America laughed. “When it comes to Prussia, that’s all I can ask.”

*************

America was chatting with Halona when a soldier came to fetch him, saying, “The Prussians have arrived, sir.”

“Oh, boy,” Halona said, chuckling. “Good luck.”

“Yeah, yeah,” America said, waving her off. “Where are they?”

“With the generals, sir, in headquarters.”

He got up off the stump he was sitting on and brushed off his pants. “Thank you.”

“Anytime, sir.” He gave a quick salute and scampered off to whatever drills he had for the day.

Meanwhile, America headed back to headquarters. At first, Washington wanted to stay in a cabin, like everyone else, but there wasn’t enough room to properly plan and execute important strategies with all of his high-ranking officers present. So, he moved into a stone house with two floors and an attic. The aides-de-camp slept there, as did Washington and his wife, Martha, who had come to visit.

Washington’s office was small. It had white paneled walls, wooden furniture, a pair of windows, and more documents than America could ever count. Not as many as the larger office America and the aides-de-camp used, though. Their papers filled the shelves, tables, chest, and desk. Some were even stacked on the floor or upon chairs that you had to be careful not to sit in. But when America entered that office, it seemed that all the chair papers had been moved to teeter on top of the overstuffed chest so their guests could sit if they pleased.

The room held Generals Washington, Knox, and Greene, as well as Washington’s aides-de-camp: Alexander Hamilton, John Laurens, Captain Caleb Gibbs (who managed headquarters household accounts), Dr. James McHenry (who used to be a surgeon earlier in the war), Richard Kidder Meade (who often delivered messages Hamilton drafted), Pierre Pinnet (who was French), and Tench Tilghman (who spoke fluent French and was a volunteer aide).

It also had Prussia and a man with dark hair and brown eyes, who turned to look at him.

_“Kails,”_ America greeted in Prussian. It was the only word he knew.

Prussia grinned at him. _“Amerika!_ Don’t worry; I’ve dealt with that British bastard enough to speak English. How are you?”

“Good,” America said, relieved. “And you?”

He laughed and slapped America on the back. “So formal! This is Baron Friedrich Wilhelm von Steuben. He doesn’t speak much English, and he’s not a fast learner, but he’s hardworking.”

America smiled sheepishly and extended a hand for a handshake. “Nice to meet you, Baron.”

The baron clasped his hand tightly. “Hello.”

“He speaks French,” Prussia added. “If that’s helpful.”

“We have quite a few French-speaking officers. That’s Pierre and the Marquis de Lafayette, who came over from France, and we have Mister Tilghman.”

“Excellent! Then our communication should not be so hard. It’s unfortunate that I cannot officially ally with you, but this will have to do. General Washington?”

Washington joined the conversation. “Yes?”

“May I steal your personification for a while?”

The general looked to America for consent, and when given a very subtle nod, he agreed. “Of course. One of our French translators can help with briefing the baron. I’m sure America can help you get settled in and explain our situation.”

“Yes, sir,” America replied. “I’d be happy to.”

“It’s settled, then,” Prussia announced, taking America’s elbow into his hand and leading him out the door before he could even say goodbye to his friends and colleagues. “We need to get reacquainted. I haven’t seen you in- what, fifty years? And even then, it was only for a week.”

“A lot has happened since 1728.”

“You’re right about that, my friend. How is your brother? You do have a brother, right?”

“Yeah, his name is Canada. Well, the Province of Quebec, but he used to be called Canada, and he prefers it. Anyway, he’s okay. How about you? How are your brothers?”

He shrugged. “Ludwig is alright. He’s very stressed trying to take care of Holy Rome’s falling empire. Sorry about those troops he’s renting to England, by the way. I told him not to do it, but he never listens to me.”

“It’s alright. It’s not your fault. Hell, it’s barely Ludwig’s. This is all England’s doing. He couldn’t live with me wanting to be my own person, so he’s gotten himself into a war over it.”

“You are lovers, aren’t you?”

“Were. We aren’t anymore.”

Prussia hummed in consideration. “Do you think you’ll ever become his partner again?”

“If you’re asking whether I’m committed to this cause, the answer is yes. I’m not going to chicken out just because we used to be lovers. You don’t need to have wavering faith in my resolve.”

“So I won’t regret sinking time and energy into you?”

“No. I promise.”

He smiled a bit. “Alright, then. Why don’t you show me where I’ll sleep.”

America nodded and led him through the dismal camp. It wasn’t pleasant. There was snow everywhere, some of it bloody, horse carcasses were shoved behind buildings from when they’d succumbed to the elements or had been slaughtered for food, and weary soldiers stumbled back into their cabins and huts.

They went to a cabin near America’s where he opened the door. It was dim inside and not much warmer than outside. The only real shelter it provided was against the snow since drafts came through tiny cracks in the logs, even though most had been plastered shut with mud and clay. Thick branches supported shelves, and the cot in the back right corner had two furs and a straw-stuffed pillow, which was a luxury for Valley Forge.

On the back wall was a fireplace made from bricks and mud that sticks could be thrown into and set aflame to keep the cabin warmer, but all in all, the conditions weren’t what Prussia was used to.

“Oh my. You _are_ struggling, aren’t you?” He remarked, looking around.

America flushed. “Yeah. I’m sorry. I could talk to the general if you’d like. Maybe one of the aides-de-camp could move out of headquarters, and you could take their bed, but then you’d have to share the room.”

“It’s alright, America. I’ve stayed in worse places under harsher conditions. Don’t worry about me.”

“Okay. Do you want the baron to stay here, too, or should he have a separate cabin?”

Prussia smirked. “The baron will find companions here at camp soon enough. I’d prefer not to share a room with him.”

“I’ll be sure he gets a cabin far away from you, then,” America said with a nervous laugh.

“Good. Now, what do you say we start turning this mangy group of farmers into soldiers, huh?”

*************

8 March 1778

Miss Jenkins,

I have another assignment for you, and it is of the utmost importance.

Infiltrate Valley Forge and determine if General Washington plans to spring another winter attack on his majesty’s army. If so, I must know when, where, and how. Be discreet. It will be difficult due to the fact that you know Alfred, but I trust that you can avoid him. I’m sure he is busy, anyway.

In addition, your father is a risk. He used to be under General Artemas Ward’s command, but Ward fell ill and is no longer involved in the war. Now, your father serves under General Nathanael Greene. Greene’s men are also staying at Valley Forge, meaning you will need to be very, very careful. Your father would, of course, recognize you.

When you have your answer, report to New York City immediately. In this envelope, I have included a map marking where Valley Forge is as well as where I am staying in New York. Upon reaching our headquarters here, use the password, “Thatcham.” You should be able to get in after that. General William Howe is no longer our Commander-In-Chief. He was replaced with General Henry Clinton yesterday, so ask for General Clinton if I am not available. If I am, though, come straight to me. Do not give any information to anyone other than General Clinton or myself.

This message is being delivered to you by my most trusted courier. You can count on him to bring me your response should you have any questions, but I hope you will not have any. The sooner you get me an answer, the better. There are lives at stake, Miss Jenkins, and I am counting on you. Good luck and godspeed.

Best wishes,

Arthur Kirkland


	36. Emma's Earl

“America must fear you before [he] can love you” -Prime Minister Lord Frederick North to King George III of England

Frederick Gotthold Enslin, a patriot soldier, was being dishonorably discharged from the Continental Army for sodomy, and America was not pleased.

He slammed his fist on the table. “That’s not fair!”

Washington threw up his hands. “I don’t know what else you want me to do, America!”

“Say you found him innocent! You can’t punish him for this!”

“And why not?” The general demanded, whirling to face his personification. The rest of the room, which held John Laurens, Alexander Hamilton, General Greene, and General Knox, was very quiet. None were very comfortable with the topic of discussion for today in the first place, and now America and Washington’s arguing was making it even worse.

“Because that’s unjust!”

“He was accused by multiple soldiers of sodomy, America! I can’t just pretend like I never heard what they said to me!”

“You can’t just turn a blind eye to it when it’s people you know and need, then hand out a dishonorable discharge when it’s someone else! England and I used to be lovers! You know Kaiya and Halona are married! We all see the baron bringing soldiers back to his cabin! It’s obvious John and Alex are fucking! So why is it a problem for Enslin?”

The normally articulate Alexander Hamilton was speechless. All he managed was an indignant squeak and a strangled, “No, we aren’t!” before clamping his mouth shut.

It wasn’t like Washington or America were paying any attention to him, though, anyway. America was shouting, “Why is he any less deserving of mercy than me?”

“You weren’t called before a judge and openly accused of attempted sodomy! It’s not that I care whether he’s having relations with other soldiers. It’s that there were allegations brought about by a soldier he tried to seduce!”

“May I interrupt?” General Greene asked.

Washington sighed. “Yes, Nathaniel, what is it?”

“From my perspective, maybe this other soldier wasn’t… ah… reciprocating Enslin’s affections. Maybe he is accusing him because of that instead of over a personal grudge.”

America faltered. “You mean you think the issue is over consent?”

“Yes. I don’t know about their relationship, so maybe you’re right. Maybe he is accusing him of sodomy because they are enemies. But I worry that may not be the cause.”

“Excellent point, Nathaniel, thank you,” Washington said.

“But we don’t have any evidence to say that is true,” General Knox added, “and Enslin’s accuser never said that happened. We have no idea who the victim is.”

Laurens nodded. “That’s true, but it doesn’t matter what we want. The court marshal was the one that made the decision.”

“So what? We don’t have to approve the sentence!”

“That seems a bit undemocratic,” Hamilton said. “I agree with you, America, but I don’t think we have much of a choice.”

He shook his head, fuming with anger. “It’s not right! Where’s Prussia? He’ll back me up!”

“Prussia is with Steuben. They’re training the troops; we shouldn’t bother them,” Laurens informed him.

Washington sighed heavily. “I’m sorry, America, but I have to approve the sentence. We’re done arguing over it.”

Gritting his teeth, America stormed out of their headquarters, slamming the door behind him and stomping into the snow. He could still feel his nails digging into his palms when he came back to his cabin, throwing its door shut, too.

Addison was there, swinging his gun over his shoulder in preparation for joining the other men in the Steuben-run training. “Hey, America. Whoa, what’s up with you?”

“Washington is a hypocrite!” He raged, flopping face-down on the bed and trying to calm himself down.

“Oh. Wanna talk about it?”

“No.”

“Okay, good, because I couldn’t stay anyway. Drills, you know? But, hey, I’m free after those.”

If America’s face weren’t shoved into his quilt, he would have rolled his eyes. “Thanks, Addison.”

“Drills suck ass, by the way. Steuben is cool and all- I mean, the others think he’s a god- but he’s harsh. And he only knows one English swear word, which is ‘goddamn,’ so he yells that at us along with jumbled Germanic and French curses. He has a nice dog, though. Have you met his dog? His name is Azor. He’s really cute.”

“Mmm,” America hummed, disinterested, though the quilt muffled it.

“He’s a little like Lafayette. He’s not getting paid because he said Congress didn’t have to pay him unless we won the war. Although, he did say that Valley Forge is appalling.”

America turned his head to the side. “It _is_ appalling.”

“Okay, yeah, but he doesn’t have to point it out. We’re all aware of how disgusting it is. How could we not be when there are dead horses everywhere? We gotta clean those up, by the way.”

“And where would we put them?”

He shrugged. “I dunno. But they’re kind of gross.”

“No, _gross_ is eating horses. Having corpses lying around is _revolting.”_

“Same difference.”

America knit his brow when he looked at the empty bed in the front right-hand corner of the cabin. “Addison, where are Kaiya and Halona?”

“I introduced Halona to Patrick Wells, so she’s with him right now. They’re practicing their shots. And Kaiya is fixing up some half-dead patriots.”

“Oh.”

“Hey, I just remembered I need to tell you something. I call the cabin after dinner.”

Frustrated, America pushed himself up on his elbows. “No! You had it last night! Go to her cabin!”

“But she’s married.”

“You have no morals.”

“You’re the one that went to New York for a fuck with the personification of the British Empire while we’re at war with him, so you don’t have any room to talk.”

He scowled. “Fine. Whatever. Just don’t be too long.”

Addison grabbed his satchel and hurried to the door, calling, “No promises- I have a lot of endurance.”

“Addison!”

But the door was already shut and he was gone.

*************

Emma Jenkins pulled her hood down further to hide her face while she trudged through the nasty snow of Valley Forge. The smells from rotting animals were putrid, and it seemed like half the soldiers were sick with one disease or another.

Fifty paces in front of her, a group of soldiers marched and took orders from a very angry man in a beaver cap shouting in another language that she didn’t recognize. It sounded Germanic, but she wasn’t sure.

She kept her head down while she waded through the sea of misery that was Valley Forge. There was a stone house on a small hill guarded by a few weary soldiers. She assumed it must be where the general stayed. Carefully, she approached the building, winding around the back only to find a Continental soldier barricading that entrance, too.

Despite having reached the age of nineteen, she was nervous when she crept forward with a small wave. “Hello.”

“Who are you?” He asked, irritated.

She pushed her hood off and gave him her best ‘I’m a harmless young girl from Massachusetts and oh my you are very handsome’ smile. “My name is Anna.”

His posture straightened slightly as he took in her soft golden curls and big, innocent brown eyes. “Ah. Well, sorry, miss, but I can’t let you into General Washington’s headquarters.”

“That’s alright. I don’t want in.”

He blinked. “You don’t? Then why did you come up here?”

“I-” she paused, glancing away. “Well, it’s a little embarrassing, but I was speaking to a friend of mine, who is also a camp follower, and we talked about you. Most young women here have found friends here, but I have yet to gain a companion. So, she said I should speak to you and perhaps we could become friends. It was a silly idea; I’m sorry, I should just go.”

Emma turned and started to walk away, but the young man caught her arm, saying, “Wait! Uh, who was it that you talked to?”

For a moment, she panicked. A name, a name, she needed a common, generic name!

“Mary.”

“Right, a cabin mate of mine, Tom, is courting a Mary. Is she the same one? Mary Johnson?”

“Mary Johnson, yes.”

“So, you were hoping for… what exactly?”

She lowered her eyes shyly. “Intimate company, if you’d have me.”

He grinned. “I’d like that. My shift ends in an hour.”

“I have to help my sister by then.”

His excitement waned. “Oh. Tonight?”

“I can’t imagine that either of our cabins would be empty.”

“Shit, and I’m on duty tomorrow, too.”

“We could go now,” she suggested.

The soldier froze. “Now?”

“Yes.”

“I have to guard the back door to the generals’ house, and my boss, Gibbs, will skin me alive if he knew I left.”

Gaining confidence, Emma smirked confidently and trailed a hand down his chest. “We can be quick.”

It seemed like he was going to protest again, but once she undid the top button of his shirt, he nodded, tossed his musket to the ground, and let Emma lead him toward the forest. The moment they were far enough from camp, she whipped out a pistol.

His eyes widened. “H- Hey! What-?”

She slammed the barrel into his forehead as hard as she could before he could finish. He crumpled to the ground immediately, a bleeding, unconscious puddle in the snow.

Emma couldn’t believe her plan worked. Her story was unbelievable, her flirting wasn’t very good, and the entire thing had been improvised. Lucky for her, the soldier wasn’t very smart.

Jerking her hood back up, she ran out of the forest, crept back to the house, and slipped through the unlocked back door.

Inside, she heard yelling, but it seemed like she only caught the tail end of the fight.

An irritated voice said, “It’s happening tomorrow.”

“Yeah, and it was already decided.”

“That’s still plenty of time!” Someone cried. Emma stopped cold. She knew that voice.

“Why are we having this debate _again?”_ Asked a man that sounded ready to snap. “I thought things were settled last time.”

Another agreed. “Alex is right. We need to discuss how we’re going to fix our mess of an army.”

Alfred Jones spoke again. “Wasn’t Steuben supposed to be doing that?”

“I mean with all the disease and stuff. We lose twelve soldiers a day. There’s not enough food, blankets, or clothes. We’re the most hodgepodge, muddled, ridiculous army ever. We don’t even have uniforms.”

“We sort of have uniforms,” said a new speaker.

“Jackets for high-ranking officers only don’t count.”

“We have no money. What do you expect?”

Again, Alfred: “Congress to help us! Why can’t they support their own army?”

“Because Congress is a joke, that’s why,” The man, Alex, said, “and they’re not worth shit.”

The voice of the man that suggested fixing the army returned. “I’m just saying that we’re basically sitting ducks in this state. We’ll never be able to fight until spring at the earliest. Something must be done.”

Emma inhaled sharply. That was her answer. She could report back to the army. She could see Arthur again (and, god, forget pardons- that was payment all on its own). The idea of him giving her a proud look and thanking her in that silky voice of his made her stomach flip and her heart skip a beat. Maybe, just maybe, he would hug her or slowly draw her in for a celebratory kiss. That wasn’t likely by any means, but a girl could dream.

Fantasy in her head and hope in her heart, Emma slunk out of the house and headed out of the campsite.

There was news to deliver.

*************

Washington sent America to Marblehead, Massachusetts to meet France’s ship. He was on the dock when France arrived, smiling and setting his luggage down to kiss each of America’s cheeks.

_“Amérique!_ I have missed you greatly! How are you?”

“I’m great,” He answered. “How about you?”

“Good now that I am here and get to see your face. I believe this is the first time we have met while you were unattached,” France said with a wink that made blood rush to America’s cheeks.

He chuckled nervously. “Yeah, probably. Can I help you with your bags?”

France waved the question off. “No, no, but thank you, _mon cher.”_

Briskly, he scooped up his things and followed America to a waiting carriage, which America explained was, “From General Washington. He wanted you to be comfortable.”

“How considerate.” France climbed in before America and smiled at him. It was cramped in the carriage, and their knees brushed, only pressing more when France leaned forward and brushed a piece of hair out of America’s face, saying, “So, tell me about your General Washington.”

“Oh. Well, he’s really nice once you get to know him. He’s a bit intimidating at first, though, I won’t lie.”

“Will it be possible to see Kaiya and Halona during my visit?”

“Yes! They’re staying with us now. Halona fights, and Kaiya’s a nurse.”

France frowned. “Mmm. I don’t like the idea of Halona in such dangerous situations. She’s mortal, after all.”

“I used to worry, too, but then I saw her fight. Trust me- she can handle herself. If I didn’t have extra strength, she could easily beat me in combat.”

“And _Angleterre?_ Has anything happened concerning him since your last letter?”

America shook his head. “No, I haven’t seen him. Our spies reported that he’s mostly just keeping to himself.”

“Perhaps your rendezvous in New York has him confused.”

His eyes lowered. “Yeah. When I was leaving…”

*************

_When he could, England propped himself up on his elbows, chest still heaving and covered in red marks. “I should let you top more often.”_

_America chuckled lightly, grabbing a bath towel that had been conveniently thrown over the back of the desk chair. “More often?”_

_“Yes. I have to admit, that was good.”_

_He began putting his clothes back on, tossing England his own and the towel. “You know this changes nothing, right?”_

_England blinked in confusion, pausing with his pants only half up. “Oh. Right.”_

_“Call it foreshadowing,” America said, pulling his jacket on and buttoning it up. “I’m going to win this war.”_

_He got his shirt back on. “If you’re still so mad at me, why did you come here?”_

_America paused, examining England’s expression. “Wait, you didn’t think this was some kind of makeup sex, did you?”_

_“No.”_

_“Oh god, you did, didn’t you? It was just sex, England. It didn’t mean anything. I’ve just been frustrated lately.”_

_England, now clothed, crossed his arms. “Bullshit. If all you needed was someone to fuck, you could have gone to some random soldier. But you came all the way here, risking your life, I might add, to see me.”_

_He shrugged nonchalantly, clasping the last button of his coat and adjusting the cuffs of his sleeves. “What can I say? I particularly wanted to fuck you.” He flattened out his hair and started to leave, but England caught his arm before he could go._

_“Wait!”_

_America stopped. “What?”_

_“Tell me this isn’t it. Tell me that there’s a chance for us to be together again.”_

_The silence in the room was deafening until America summoned the words. “I can’t.”_

_And with that, he was wrenching his arm out of England’s grip and leaving. Before he knew what was happening, England was alone again, staring after him and feeling torn between raising the alarm to have America captured before he could get back to his side, punching someone, and crying. He settled on the last option, sinking onto his bed and putting his head in his hands as the tears began to fall._

_Out in the hallway, America paused. Where was his cravat? Quickly, he patted himself down and checked his pockets. Shit, it must still be in England’s room. He turned back._

_“I forgot my-” America started when he stepped back into the room. He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw England. “Oh. You know what, that’s okay, I don’t need it.”_

_His hand was on the brass doorknob when he stopped, realizing he couldn’t leave. As much as he hated England, he still loved him, and he couldn’t walk away from him when he was in this state. So he turned back around, watching England wipe his tears away aggressively._

_“What? What did you forget?” England demanded, voice wavering but still conveying his anger._

_America sighed, going back to kneel in front of England, taking his hands and looking into his eyes since they were level. “It doesn’t matter. But you do.”_

_England laughed bitterly. “Yeah, right.”_

_“I still love you. I think you know that. If I didn’t, this wouldn’t all be so hard. So I can’t go when you’re like this.”_

_“Stop,” England said in warning. “Don’t do this. Don’t play with my feelings like that. I can’t take anymore, America. I just can’t.”_

_“I’m not trying to play with your feelings. It’s true. I’ve never loved anyone like I’ve loved you,” America murmured, brushing some hair back behind England’s ear and looking at him with such a pained expression that England knew it was true._

_“Then why are you doing this?”_

_He sighed. “You know why. But that’s not what’s important now.”_

_“How can you say that? It’s always important; it’s always ruining us! So how can you…” He trailed off, crying harder, unable to stop himself._

_“We can fight about it later. Right now, what’s important is you. I’m sorry that I came here. I shouldn’t have. I guess I wasn’t thinking. But I do love you.”_

_England squeezed his eyes shut. He couldn’t spend one more second staring into America’s because, somehow, the worst part was that when he said he loved him, he was sincere. “I miss you.”_

_“I know. I miss you, too. Every night when I lay down to sleep, I’m stuck seeing us when we were happy. I want that back, too, Iggy. Fuck, if you think I don’t wish none of this ever happened… Well, you’re wrong.”_

_Shaking, England leaned in and kissed him gently, a complete contrast to their kisses ten minutes ago. This one was soft and salty from tears, but it was everything England had been wishing he had since that fateful day in Boston._

_They pulled apart and touched foreheads, each taking uneasy breaths._

_“Will you stay with me? Just for tonight? I don’t think I can take it if you go again right now. I… please don’t leave me alone.”_

_America nodded, getting up on the bed and pulling him in tightly, hugging him until England could breathe properly. Then, he kicked off his shoes, shed his jacket, and lay down with England held securely in his arms as night fell over New York._

*************

“...He was upset. So, yeah, maybe he is retreating because of it.”

France shrugged. “No matter. He’s the one that oppressed you, America. Don’t start pitying him now.”

“I guess you’re right.”

“How’s Canada?” France asked, changing the subject.

“Not sure. I haven’t seen him in a while. We have a meeting scheduled, though, in mid-May.”

“Can I come?”

America grimaced. “Sorry, France, I really shouldn’t bring you. It’s a secret, and the fewer the people on the expedition, the better.”

“I understand, _mon chaton._ Another time, then?”

“Yeah, yeah. For sure.”

*************

Hesitantly, Emma Jenkins knocked on the door to Arthur Kirkland’s room. She’d already passed guards at the gate, using the password- Thatcham. She got instructions for reaching the Lieutenant-General’s room, and now here she was, waiting to speak to him.

“Come in!” He called.

Head feeling light, Emma entered the office. It was small, with just a desk, chair, bed, nightstand, trunk, and a few other things. There was no window, but candles dotted the room to illuminate his face. He was seated at his desk, writing something down with the flames flickering in his emerald green eyes. The sight took Emma’s breath away.

Arthur looked up. “Emma! I wasn’t expecting to see you again so soon. Did something go wrong?”

“No, I have the information you need and more.”

He set his quill down and got up. “Do tell.”

“They’re not attacking for the rest of the winter. They’re far too weak to. Diseases are everywhere, their camp is disgusting, and even the generals are starving. It’d be a miracle if they could put up a fight even once springtime comes and they’re losing twelve men per day.”

“So they’re vulnerable?”

She nodded. “Very. They’re barely clinging to life. However, they are gaining support from Prussian military personnel who are training them rigorously.”

Frowning, he leaned against the desk. “I hadn’t heard that. That is most unfortunate. Anything else?”

Slowly, she shook her head. “No, that’s all I learned.”

“That’s alright. You did well. You brought me the information I needed quickly and discreetly. I have a proposition for you. How would you like to stay here in New York for a while? Your lifestyle would be much more comfortable, and you could help me with any missions that I must have executed.”

Emma’s eyes widened. “Yes, I’d love that!”

“Wonderful. There’s an officer I’d like you to meet if you’d accompany me to his office. You would be placed under his guard to stay safe. You’ll like him, don’t worry.”

“Oh. Yes, of course,” She responded, deflating a little.

“Wonderful. Follow me.” Arthur exited his room, holding the door for Emma and escorting her out of the building to a nearby one where the officer he had in mind was staying. They easily bypassed the guards, Arthur letting them know that they were to allow Emma past without a hassle from here on out.

He rapped on an oak door and said, “Lord Westington?”

It swung open to reveal a handsome man with black curly hair, hypnotizingly green eyes, and a sharp jawline. He was pale and lean, standing straight and dressed in expensive clothes. Emma was suddenly very aware of her plain dress when he looked at her.

“Lieutenant General Kirkland. To what do I owe this pleasure?” He asked with a thick English accent.

“I’d like you to meet Miss Emma Jenkins. I spoke to you about her earlier, remember?” Arthur introduced.

His eyes lit up in recognition and he took her hand, planting a kiss on her knuckles. “Yes, of course. Pleased to meet you, Miss Jenkins.”

“The pleasure is all mine, my lord,” she replied anxiously.

“Please, call me Sebastian.”

“Emma, this is Earl Sebastian Westington. He is a friend and confidant to General Clinton, our new Commander-In-Chief. He has made the journey to the colonies to provide military and strategic advice, and he is very good at what he does.”

The earl smiled. “You give me too much credit, Lieutenant-General. But thank you.”

Arthur nodded. “Well, I’ll leave you two to it. Have a good night, both of you.”

“Thank you,” they said in sync.

Objective reached, Arthur left, walking back to his room. Emma Jenkins needed to shift her focus off of him, and he was confident that the charming earl would do a great job of stealing her affections. They’d fall in love, marry, and settle down. She would live a cushy life with anything she could ever want. It almost made his guilt about using her to get information on the Continental army disappear.

*************

12 May 1778

England,

I am, unfortunately, the bearer of bad news. Your cat, Elizabeth, has passed. She was old, and it was her age that caused this to happen. Your neighbor, whom you left her in the care of, is making arrangements for her. I shall write to you again once things have been settled. I am sorry for your loss.

You should also know that former Prime Minister William Pitt, 1st Earl of Chatham, has died. He collapsed during a Parliamentary meeting on the 7th of April and passed away just yesterday.

Good luck, England. Hopefully, we will see each other soon with our colonies subdued. Be bold- don’t back down. Our enemies must not get the best of us, especially while taking a colony that brings in so much money. Crush America. Do not let him get away. Do what you must to force him into submission. I want him groveling for forgiveness on his knees when this war is finished. Get rid of his leading rebels: Washington, Adams, Jefferson, Madison, Knox, Greene, and all the others. They will all be tried for high treason and will be made into an example. Do _not_ disappoint me, England. Remember that I am your king, not the other way around. You must consent to my demands, and I want you to deal a mortal blow to the Continental Army.

Best Wishes,

George R


	37. À La Claire Fontaine

“Beloved by you, I can be happy in any situation.” -Alexander Hamilton

France hummed while he massaged America’s shoulders. America recognized the tune as being _À La Claire Fontaine,_ an old French lullaby, and it was easing him deeper into relaxation. May had come, meaning that the cabin could retain just enough heat that America was comfortable sitting under a blanket. A fire crackled in the fireplace, occasionally popping while the flames lapped up the burning wood. Outside, it was raining, washing Valley Forge with fresh water and trickling down the sides of the cabins after pitter-pattering against the roof.

“You are so tense,” France murmured, working the knots out of his muscles with his thumbs and shifting on America’s bed behind him to get a better angle at his neck.

“Well, I guess I’ve been under some stress lately.”

France went back to humming the song while he rubbed his back soothingly. His hands were warm and steady, grounding America while his eyes fluttered shut so that he could better enjoy the calm bliss that rolled over him. They were the only ones inside the cabin- Addison was probably flirting with some camp follower, Kaiya had lots of work to do even though night was rapidly approaching, and Halona was on a walk.

“Thank you,” America said quietly. “I don’t think anyone’s ever done this for me before.”

He smiled tenderly, sliding down America’s spine, easing his mind and body. Knots America didn’t even realize were there slowly disappeared under the gentle ministrations of his hands. “Really? Not even your dear _Angleterre?”_

“No.”

“That is most unfortunate. You needed this, and you deserve to be spoiled. I am glad I get to do that for you.”

His eyelids lifted, and he looked over his shoulder at France, gaze flickering over his cerulean blue eyes, long lashes, easy golden curls tied at the nape of his neck with a scarlet ribbon (though quite a few had slipped out to fall around his face), and that _look;_ the look that somehow said, ‘I’ll keep you safe,’ and ‘You’ll be okay,’ and ‘I’m here for you’ all at once. With all of that, America couldn’t help but think he looked, in a word, beautiful, especially when the fire’s flames illuminated the curve of his jaw and he met America’s gaze.

Feeling his heart skip a beat, America turned away. Blood rushed to his cheeks, but it was dim enough in the cabin that he hoped France hadn’t seen.

The elder personification smiled, continuing to ease America into the tranquillity of the twilight-encompassed cabin. When rubbing his neck, he could feel his pace quicken, especially when he leaned down to whisper into America’s ear. “Feeling better, _mon cher?”_

Faintly, America nodded. “Yes.”

“Good.” France shifted to his arms, squeezing tight and releasing until they, too, slackened.

“Needed this…” America mumbled.

France paused to card a hand through America’s hair as if petting him, but it was not unwelcome. His nails grazed over his scalp, and America felt himself shiver as he shut his eyes again and leaned into France’s touch.

With all the delicacy in the world, France skimmed his fingers down America’s arms and pressed a chaste kiss to the back of his neck.

America stiffened, but France didn’t press any more boundaries between platonic affection and romance. He only massaged his shoulders until he loosened up again.

“You know, _Amérique,_ I think that you will win this war. Now that the treaty has been signed and war declared, we have fallen into new positions.”

“What do you mean by that?”

He shrugged, tracing the vertebrae on his spine. “We are allies, now. No longer are we in opposing empires, for the first time since we met. England always kept us apart, yes? He was a barrier for us. I think he was mostly just trying to keep you all to himself and control who you were friends with. We’re very fortunate that we managed to end up not being personal foes. But now, you are your own country- the United States of America,” France said under his breath. Hearing his new, full name made goosebumps rise on America’s skin. That was right. Since July 4, 1776, he was no longer the British Colonies of America nor British America nor the United British Colonies of America nor any other variant of his name. He was no longer England’s.

That thought always baffled him. For so long, he had been listening to what England told him to do. If England said jump, he’d ask how high. Such was the nature of a colony and its colonizer. But here? Now? He was a country, a nation. It sounded too good to be true. And yet, it was. All he had to do was beat England, and then he would be free.

And France was going to help him do that.

“We can be whatever we want to be,” France continued. “You can make your own choices now, America. If you want to be enemies with England, you can be. If you want to be allied with me, you can be. _Mon Dieu,_ with the way things are going, it seems like you will have a friend in Prussia soon. Spain may join the war, too, on your side. I have spoken to him about it, but he isn’t sure yet. The point is, you are your own. And I think that will be very good for us.”

The implications weren’t quiet, nor were they poorly received. America couldn’t deny that he had always found France to be a good friend, and since he left England, he also couldn’t say that the thought of being something more never crossed his mind. With France here, allaying him, humming softly, and allowing him to have a moment of unadulterated, unceasing, undisturbed peace, he was filled with the urge to turn around, kiss him, and never leave- just sink deeper and deeper into his embrace until he drowned.

America sighed in contentment. “Yeah, I think so, too.”

*************

The date was the 30th of May, 1778, when Major General Benedict Arnold swore an Oath of Allegiance to America. America himself was present, as was General Henry Knox. Arnold- a short man with black hair and gray eyes- was gazing down at the document over his curved nose.

General Knox passed him a quill and inkwell. “Big day!”

“I suppose,” Arnold remarked, dipping the tip into the ink.

“Well, you’re swearing your allegiance. I’d say that’s a big deal,” Knox said.

“It’s just a signature.” He scribbled down his name and set the pen down. “Did you get any news about Lafayette?”

America nodded. “His men and the Oneidas had success at Barren Hill in Pennsylvania. Oh, and that plan to stretch a chain across the Hudson River to stop British ships worked.”

He hummed distractedly. “Mmm. I see. Great news, then. Well, if you gentlemen will excuse me, I have a lot of work to do.”

“Oh. Yeah, sure,” America said, blinking. “Do you need to go now, or-”

“Now would be great. Thank you for your time.”

Arnold strutted out of the house, shutting the door behind him. Confused, America turned to Knox. “What’s up with him?”

Henry Knox shrugged. “He’s a very bitter person. He keeps getting passed over for promotions from Congress- they’re being all political, you know how it is- anyway, he’s extra resentful about it lately. Whatever. I’ve never really liked him. He’s jealous, stand-offish, too proud for his own good, and overly critical.”

“Wow. You _really_ don’t like him, do you?”

“Definitely not.”

It made sense. Knox and Arnold were polar opposites, inside and out. Where Arnold was short, Knox was tall. Where Arnold was averagely wide, Knox was stout. Where Arnold was cold and detached, Knox was sociable. They were like oil and water.

“No matter,” Knox said, shaking off his irritation. “You are meeting with your brother soon, are you not?”

“I am. I was planning on leaving later today.”

“Well, good luck.”

America smiled. “Thanks.”

“Oh, hey, I meant to tell you. You know the famous State House Bell in Pennsylvania, right?”

“Of course.”

“And you also know how the redcoats enjoy destroying our symbols, like the Liberty Tree and the Old South Meeting House in Boston, so we hid it in September, right?”

“Right.”

“Well, we were kind of thinking about the bell. We were hoping to remove it from hiding. We thought it might be a good morale boost, you know?”

America shrugged. “I mean, they already took our tree. Might as well keep the bell intact. But at the same time, I think it’d be a show of confidence.”

“It’s up to you.”

Again, he shrugged. “In the end, it’s just a bell. Sure, it has meaning and importance, but we haven’t truly lost anything if it gets destroyed. The spirit of our cause will continue, and it’s not like anyone would die from it.”

“That’s what I said. I’ll let the other generals know what you said.” He glanced out the window. “Afternoon is creeping up on us. You should probably get going if you’re going to see Canada. Where are you meeting up?”

“New Hampshire.”

“That’s a long way. When will you see him?”

“Five days from now.”

“What are you still doing here? Go!” He said, laughing and shooing America out of the house.

As much as he loved Canada, this trip wasn’t going to be fun. He had to ask him some things, and nervousness was already starting to rear its head. The last thing he wanted to do was face his brother and bring up what he needed to bring up.

A shudder ran down his spine just thinking about it.

What if Canada said no?

*************

America slouched down against the wall of the church he was meeting Canada behind. Crickets chirped in the tall New Hampshire grass, singing their evening song as the last glimpses of day blinked out and the sun sank below the horizon.

His brother was running late, which he was relieved for, but at the same time, it just made him more anxious. He was so lost in his worries that he nearly had a heart attack when Canada showed up and said, “Hey, America.”

He jumped. “Oh, hey, Canada.”

“Sorry to startle you.”

“No, you’re fine. How are, uh, things with England? Has he tried to get you involved?”

“Yes, but I refused him. I don’t want to fight on his side.”

Smirking, America said, “Yet you can’t fight on mine, either.”

“It’s not my fault, it’s my bosses’. They like all the additional freedoms England gave us to calm us down after he took us from France and don’t want to risk losing them.”

“I know, I know, I’m just teasing.”

“I heard you signed a treaty with Papa? Is that true?”

America grinned and laughed nervously. “Yeah, we did. He crossed the sea, too, and he’s staying at Valley Forge with me.”

Canada’s eyes widened. “Really? Do you think I could see him?”

“I don’t know,” America said, giving him a sympathetic smile. “I think you shouldn’t risk it. But I wanted to talk to you about him.”

He hid his disappointment well when he asked, “What about him?”

“Well, uh, he’s kind of been, ah, less platonic with me lately. I’m pretty sure he sees me as more than a friend. At first, I was just kind of like, ‘Whoa! What’s happening here?’ because I still miss England and stuff, but I think I’m starting to reciprocate his affections. So I thought to myself, ‘Hmm. Should I pursue anything more with France or not?’ and then I thought, ‘I don’t know, Canada might not like that’ and… I’m rambling. I guess I just wanted to ask you if you would be okay with that.”

There was no hint of surprise in Canada’s eyes, which America didn’t expect. His brother just smiled kindly and said, “Go for it.”

America blinked. “That’s… Wouldn’t that be weird? Would you feel weird? Because, if so, I won’t do anything with him.”

Canada shrugged. “Yeah, it’s weird, but if you think that will make you happier, do it.”

“Are you sure? Like, really, really sure? I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“It’s not like I’m actually related to him.” Canada reminded him.

“Yeah, I know, but he’s sort of a father figure to you, and I’m your brother, which I thought might make you feel awkward or something. I don’t know, I just didn’t want to upset you or make you angry or freaked out or-”

“Hey, hey, ‘Mer,” Canada shushed him, putting a hand on his shoulder to stop his babbling. “I promise it’s okay. I’m glad you’re moving on from England. So, what’s been happening lately? England doesn’t keep me in the loop at all.”

“We’ll be leaving Valley Forge soon, which is good, but my friend, Silas, who is in Versailles, is having a lot of difficulties.”

“Like what?”

America sighed. “He works with this guy named Arthur Lee who hates him. All he does is tell everyone, ‘Oh, Silas is the worst!’ and he’s influential, so people listen. He has been raising doubts in Congress’ mind for a long time, but he got more aggressive not long ago, accusing Silas of embezzlement, and now Congress is recalling Silas from his diplomatic mission.”

“Is he guilty?”

“No, of course not! He’s a very moral person and would never do such a thing. But Arthur has his brother, Richard Henry Lee, in on it, and they’re tearing him apart.”

“Isn’t holding a trial a good thing, then? It’ll prove him innocent.”

“Congress only makes decisions for political gain, and you don’t want to get on Arthur Lee’s bad side. They aren’t even telling Silas why he’s being asked to return. He thinks he’s just going to give them a report on the dealings with the French leaders. I don’t know. It just kind of feels like leading a lamb to the slaughter, you know?”

Canada gave him a sympathetic smile. “You’re not the one leading him. I’m sure your word will count in Congress. If you testify for him, maybe he’ll get off.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

“How are Kaiya and Halona? I heard about their village and siblings.”

“Good, considering what happened to them. Kaiya is serving as a nurse, and Halona works as a soldier and a spy. She’s actually on a mission right now to find out what’s happening in Philadelphia. General Clinton was ordered to evacuate, and we must monitor that process. We want the city back, considering it’s our capital. Or, was, I guess.”

“Have you seen England?”

America shook his head. “He’s trying to reach peace, though. Now that France is involved, he repealed the Intolerable Acts and he sent a committee over to convince us to end the fighting. They said that if we ended the war now, they’d let us self-govern again and they’d let us have representation in Parliament, but I’d still be a British colony, and I’m done with that. We demanded independence if we ended the war, they refused, and that was the end of the discussion.”

“What about the natives?”

“The Onondaga are suffering a lot. Back in April, there was an expedition led by Continental Colonel Goose van Schaick against their tribe. We won, but then his men severely abused the prisoners. Their tribe turned to the Oneida to get the Oneida to act as an advocate for better treatment. It’s not going so well, though. The Oneida are sympathetic, but there’s not a lot being done on the Continental end.”

“When will you leave Valley Forge?”

“When we can. Hopefully soon. Our men are dropping like flies.”

He sighed. “I’m sorry, America. I wish I could help you.”

“It’s okay. Your refusal to fight for England is more than enough help. We can’t press north anymore, though. I talked to Washington about it, but he decided that trying to take Quebec wasn’t going to work. General Arnold is at Valley Forge now, and he’s not going to invade again.”

The look on Canada’s face almost broke America’s heart. He looked crestfallen. “But then… What will I do?”

“Enjoy the extra freedoms that England gave you for now. I’ll work something out with Congress, but I won’t leave you hanging. If you revolt, I’ll be at your side.”

Canada looked away, gritting his teeth. “Okay.”

“Are you angry?”

“Yes. But not at you. I’ll be independent of England someday, too. Just you wait.”

*************

Halona returned to Valley Forge with good news: The British were abandoning Philadelphia. Their original plan was to take the capital (and, therefore, the government) to slit the revolution’s throat, but since Congress escaped to York, that didn’t work. Occupying the city was useless, and General Clinton’s army was going to New York to join their other allies.

Everyone was elated. Their joy only increased when Washington announced that soon they would leave Valley Forge and preparations began.

“I can hardly believe it,” America said aloud in the cabin that night, more to himself than to France, the only other person in the room. “I think we have a real shot at winning.”

France smiled, seated beside America on his bed. “Of course we do.”

“I don’t want to think about what will happen if we don’t.”

“Then do not think about that.” France uncrossed his legs and set his cup down on the nightstand so that he could entirely focus on America. “Think about something else. Think about the day we win. Because we will. Win, that is.”

He nodded. “I can’t thank you enough for helping me, France. Without you, I wouldn’t have a shot.”

“I am always happy to help you. I am just sorry it couldn’t be sooner. I sent the Marquis over last year, but overall, I still feel guilty. You know I did not want to postpone an alliance.”

“Don’t be sorry. You’re here now, and that’s what matters,” America told him earnestly. “You’ve given me hope, above all. And I’m eternally grateful for that.”

France smiled, but there was a touch of melancholy in it. “You are welcome.”

They fell silent for a moment as America took another swig from his drink.

“I wish I were here sooner. Not just to help with the war, but to be with you,” France confessed quietly.

America paused. “What do you mean?”

“That you are important to me, I suppose.”

He set his drink down, scooting a bit closer. “You’re important to me, too. I’m glad that England isn’t standing between us anymore.”

A ghost of a smile danced on France’s face. “I am, too.” His eyes slid to that stubborn cowlick that America could never tame and gently twirled a finger around it. “I have always liked this piece of hair.”

His heart stuttered in his chest. “You do?”

“Yes. It’s brave, and it makes its own choices. Like you.”

“I wouldn’t call myself brave. I’m still scared of losing. And ghosts.”

He chuckled. “To be courageous does not mean that you feel no fear. It means that you face that fear instead of letting it control you. You, America, are very, very brave. Do not say otherwise.”

Heat rose in America’s cheeks. He made eye contact with France and murmured, “Thank you.”

“I am only stating what is true. You inspire me. One day, I hope that I will be able to bring my people freedom as you are bringing it to yours. It is a great gift, I believe.”

America swallowed dryly. “France, when this is all over, we’ll stay allies, right?”

“Of course.”

“Good,” He said with a little sigh. “I don’t want to be alone.”

“I promise you, you never will be.” France's eyes flickered across America’s face, stopping on his lips before meeting his gaze. Hesitantly, he brushed his slender fingers over America’s cheek. _“Amérique...?”_

He didn’t need to finish his sentence to ask his question. America’s voice came out quiet, almost a whisper, when he answered, “Yes.”

Gingerly, France cupper the hand on the side of America’s face and leaned in. His breath was warm, and America felt it on his skin before his lips brushed America’s and connected gently, testing the waters. America shifted to be even closer and smiled into the kiss when he felt the fingers of France’s other hand take his and entwine them.

Pulling back and touching foreheads, blue eyes meeting blue, France couldn’t hold back a smile. “I have been wanting to do that for some time now.”

America kissed him once again in response, giving his hand a squeeze and sinking deeper into his embrace.

*************

England wasn’t expecting much when his spies came back. They weren’t as skilled as he had hoped, and hiring new ones was on his to-do list.

There was one spy whose return he always eagerly awaited, though. A spy he had specifically assigned to keep a close eye on America. The things he came back with tended to be meaningless, but England was comforted by trivial updates: America had gotten a new book, America had accidentally broken a plate, America had fallen asleep while working, and so on. He could imagine each happening, and it made him feel less disconnected from him.

That night, when his special spy returned, he said he had news. Usually, he would apologize for not knowing much useful information, and England would have to assure him that it was fine. Not tonight, though. Tonight was different.

“I have information that may be relevant, sir.”

England leaned against his desk, examining the loyalist without a red jacket. “Information?”

“Yes, sir. A weakness.”

Well, England already knew most of those. “What kind of weakness?”

“One of your fellow nations, sir. France.”

He wanted to laugh out loud. Sure, America had allied with France, and they were friends, but he could hardly imagine France being a way to get to America. “Why would France be a weakness for America?”

“Their relationship has evolved from friendship to, uh, more, sir.”

England’s stomach dropped. “I’m sorry, what?”

“I overheard him speaking about it with Halona when they were walking to breakfast.”

He felt like some kind of weight was pressing in on him, cracking his ribs and forcing the air from his lungs. “But it’s just random sex- isn’t it? America is only with him to blow off steam, right?”

The spy shifted nervously. “Erm, perhaps. But it didn’t sound that way. They, ah, kissed for a long time and went to sleep together. America did not mention engaging in any… how shall I say it? Activities.”

It drove England mad with jealousy and rage to think of France with his lips on America’s or his hands on his skin or his eyes being allowed to see every inch of _England’s_ America. And to think of America breathing heavily, gasping and coming undone for France, of all people- it was sickening.

But worse was the idea of America sleeping soundly beside him, kissing him in the mornings, telling him he loved him, holding his hand, and being in his arms while reading a book or letter, smiling in contentment. Because if it was just sex, this was fixable. If it was just sex, that only meant that he had pent up energy since leaving England that he needed an outlet for- any outlet, and he decided not to risk another visit to New York.

England wasn’t sure it was fixable if America cared about France the way he once cared about him. That would mean that he was moving on, and it wasn’t just about finding someone for a good fuck. It was about more.

“We have to win this war,” England said quietly, torn between the urge to punch something and the urge to cry. He couldn’t give France time to make America fall for him. No, that just wasn’t a possibility. To truly and completely lose America- it would kill him.

“Would you like me to return to my post now, sir?” The spy asked.

“Yes.”

“And would you still like to be kept informed about America?”  
“Yes.”

“Should I let you know what happens between him and France, or shall I omit that from my reports from here on out?”

He didn’t want to know. The last thing he wanted was to hear anything about America and France. At the same time, he needed to know. How could he not? If he weren’t told what happened, that would mean he’d be constantly wondering, fearing the worst without sufficient evidence.

“Tell me. I need to know.”

The spy nodded, giving a curt salute before exiting the tent, leaving England to sink onto his bed, eyes filling with tears and hot, burning hatred. Hatred like he had never felt before. Yes, he had always disliked France. He was his enemy. But now, it was personal.

And for this, he’d kill France.


	38. The Battle of Monmouth

“I wish to have no connection with any ship that does not sail fast; for I intend to go into harm’s way.” -Captain John Paul Jones

“My legs are cramping,” America complained, squirming in his saddle. “Can we _please_ take a break?”

Washington rolled his eyes and chuckled to himself. “No, Jones, we have to keep moving.”

America moaned dramatically and collapsed onto his horse, shoving his face into its mane. “We’ve been riding for twenty million hours.”

“At least you’re not walking,” France pointed out.

That was true. The rest of their troops were marching behind them, talking to each other and monitoring the artillery on horse-pulled carts.

Addison was somewhere in the messy columns of soldiers, probably with one of his other friends or sweet-talking a camp follower.

Since Washington was mostly conversing with a colonel, America was left to sit there and think about the uncomfortable sensation in his legs.

“I want to walk!” America declared.

Washington shook his head. “We’d have to stop for you to switch with another soldier, which would delay us.”

“I’ll be fast! Please?” He begged, drawing out the ‘please,’ but Washington held firm.

“Sorry, but it will slow us down, and we can’t waste a single minute.”

The sigh America made was so theatrical that even a lieutenant five horses away raised a brow. “You okay over there?”

“Ask the commander-in-chief!” America griped.

Washington shot him a look. “Quiet.”

He huffed and muttered under his breath, but he didn’t profess his dissatisfaction anymore. France was nearby, but he was reading a book while atop his horse, only glancing up once in a while. America had no idea how he didn’t get motion sick doing that.

They were on their way to New Jersey. The redcoats had left Philadelphia, so Washington, seeing an opportunity, was seizing the moment. It was time to see if the six months they spent training at Valley Forge were worth anything.

To Washington, they were. General Charles Lee, who had been sent ahead with some men to harass the British before Washington brought in the rest of the army, disagreed. During their war council, the two had debated the issue extensively, and Washington ended up putting his foot down, asserting that they were going to pursue the enemy whether Lee liked it or not (hint: Lee did _not_ like it).

According to Washington’s spies, two thousand redcoats were lagging behind the rest of the army, and boom! Just like that, they found a weak link in the English chain. The only issue was that the Black Watch, a select group of feared, skilled Scottish soldiers in the British Army, would be there.

Noon was approaching, and they were getting close to where the battle was happening. Or, rather, _should_ be happening. They’d planned on following the sound of cannon and gunfire, but they only heard the occasional bang.

“Shouldn’t it be… I don’t know… louder?” America asked, pushing himself up. “Normally battles are, like, loud.”

“I agree,” France chirped. “I’ve always found in my many years of experience that battles tend to have a lot of volume to them.”

Washington gave America a glare that had no venom. “Don’t be sarcastic.”

“Francis was sarcastic!”

“Francis is our ally, and we need his help, which means I can’t chastise him. But I can chastise you.”

“That’s not fair.”

Before Washington responded, a Continental soldier came running in their direction. He skidded to a stop when he saw Washington and the other generals.

“Where are you going, soldier?” France demanded.

“General Lee ordered a retreat, sir.”

“Right,” Washington droned, deadpan. He turned to a few soldiers right behind them. “One of you, arrest this man for desertion.”

His eyes widened. “I’m not a deserter, sir, I swear!”

One of the soldiers passed his friend his musket and grabbed the soldier’s hands, binding them with rope. “Save it.”

“I’m not a deserter! General Lee ordered a retreat across the ravine!”

“Take him away,” Washington ordered.

The soldier turned in the opposite direction, heading away from the battle (or not-battle) to find a safe place to apprehend the deserter.

They continued until France pulled his horse to a stop and pointed in the distance to their right. “Look!”

Tons of soldiers were running, pausing to fire shots occasionally before continuing to flee.

“Are you kidding me?” Washington groaned. “We’ve always had a problem with deserters, but this is just ridiculous.”

“General, some of those are colonels,” America noticed.

He squinted and his whole face turned red. “My god, they are. Lee actually ordered the retreat? Damn him. I knew he didn’t like the plan, but- No. We must focus. If Lee insists on giving shit orders, I’ll take over.”

Washington wasn’t bluffing. He sent his horse into a gallop that the mounted squad followed, running right out onto the battlefield. The rest of the army already knew what to do and could handle themselves with lower-ranking officers’ aid.

Bursting onto the battlefield, they had to pause when the British were on top of them. It was a mess. The fighting had changed from organized gunfire to brutal close combat. Bayonets were swung, muskets clashed, and the dirt was soaked with blood.

“Attack!” Washington shouted. “Do not retreat! I said, do not retreat! Advance!”

With Washington present, the soldiers began to slow and stop their retreat. America felt extraordinarily useless sitting on his horse, waiting for orders, and unable to fight beside his men.

“We need a better position,” France said. “And we need to figure out Plan B now that Lee has ruined A.”

“You’re right,” said Lafayette (who was now fluent in English). “We must calm down and think strategically, which we can’t do in the middle of a battle.”

America acknowledged a place further off that seemed unchaotic and like it would give a good view of the battlefield. “What about there?”

“Perfect.”

Their horses ran again, tearing over the hot, baked land. The sun was powerful and bearing down on them like an oppressive slavemaster. Some men had already suffered heatstroke, and they were all exhausted. Sweat was drenching America’s blue coat, and there was nothing he wanted more than a glass of cold water.

“Let’s put our artillery on the high ground,” Washington said when they were stopped. He jumped off his horse and gestured. “If we position it over there, we’ll be able to do them some serious damage, especially in that orchard. Grapeshots would be most effective.”

“Yes, sir,” A colonel replied as he began making arrangements.

America approached his boss. “General, may I-”

“No.”

“You don’t even know what I was going to ask yet.”

“You were going to ask if you could join the battle down there, and my answer is no.” He waved down a nearby soldier. “You! Begin gathering men to man the cannons.”

“Please, sir?” America begged.

“Alfred, hush. Lafayette, I want you leading instead of Lee. If he puts up a fuss, tell him that I gave the order and that he can put a sock in it.”

Lafayette smirked. “Yes, sir.”

“General Washington!” America tried again.

And again, he was ignored. “You, Private! I want the Pennsylvania Brigade up here!”

“Yes, sir!” The private answered.

“Have them focus on the 42nd Regiment. Don’t let them back down. Elite force or not, I want them pinned down. Get the snipers assembled. Position them over there and get them their rifles. I want them using the American-made ones and the hammered-down cylindrical bullets- they’re deadly from farther distances. Tell them to focus on the Black Watch in the orchard. Tell them to shoot anything that moves and that they must prevent them from flanking our artillery.” 

America narrowed his eyes.“Sir!”

“We need to stabilize the line,” Washington announced. “And we need water. Get the camp followers to bring some to the artillerymen.”

America scowled. “George!”

That got the general’s attention. He turned to America and glared at him. “What?”

“Let me join the infantry!”

“No, you need to stay here and-”

“I can’t just stand here and talk strategy! I have to act!” America pleaded. “Please, sir, please!”

Washington sighed in profound irritation. “If I let you, will you leave me alone so that I can try to save our mess of an army from Lee’s absolute utter incompetence?”

“Yes?”

“Go.”

He beamed. “Thank you, sir!”

Given the go-ahead, America darted off, eager to join his men. He wanted to find Addison, mostly. He didn’t fancy the idea of his human friend in battle without him there. Kaiya and Halona’s exact whereabouts were unknown to him. Halona was guarding Kaiya while she performed first-aid on the battlefield, he knew, but they were not restrained by rigid rules of direction, like the soldiers. Kaiya could treat Washington’s men, Greene’s men, and anyone else’s. She wasn’t boxed in with a name and a label or told where she could treat patients and where she could not.

Having seen the battle plans earlier and using some reasoning skills, America quickly figured out where Addison would be and scanned the sweaty soldiers for a mop of ginger hair. He found his friend behind a crudely built stone wall that served as protection from bullets, reloading his musket.

America raced over and dropped down beside him, grinning. “Hey, Addison.”

“What are you doing here? I thought you were going to stay with Washington.”

“No, he let me leave.”

“What’s going on? Everything is a mess and I have no idea what to do. All the orders given to us contradict each other. Lee says retreat, Washington says to advance, guys are getting told to fall back for the artillery, it’s just a mess.”

“Understatement of the year. Lee’s an insubordinate ass.”

“So you know what’s going on?” He asked, getting up to fire a shot before ducking back down for cover.

America nodded. “Sort of.”

He explained what had happened, firing occasional shots at the scarlet-clad soldiers and reloading his musket. There was no specific reaction he was expecting, but he was taken by surprise when Addison burst out laughing.

“What’s so funny?”

Brushing his hair off his sweaty forehead, he said, “Lee! He’s so going to get it later.”

“Oh. Yeah, probably. Washington is livid.”

“When he’s done chewing him out, send my condolences to Lee’s family for their loss. Have you talked to the commander about transferring me to the Navy?”

“Yeah, I brought it up yesterday and he said he’d be happy to do that for you. You’ll be on the ship of John Paul Jones in no time.”

“Tell me more about him.”

America reloaded his musket. “Well, he’s a very talented sailor. He was born in Scotland but moved to Virginia. Two years ago, Congress sent him to Nova Scotia to rescue hundreds of Americans that were being forced into hard labor. Winter kept him from saving them, but he captured a major ship, which was good enough to satisfy Congress.”

“So when will I board his ship?”

“He’s scheduled to dock in Georgia soon. You’ll join him there.”

“Sounds good to me. Thanks.”

The two soldiers’ conversation puttered off and they decided to focus on the task at hand. Throughout the fight, regiments were shuffled around and reorganized into better positions. Despite repeated attempts to break it, the Continental Army’s lines held. It seemed that their time with Steuben had paid off.

France was probably still safe up on the hill with the other generals, yet America couldn’t help but worry. He’d only been France’s lover for ten days, and he was already falling hard. Not that anyone could blame him. France was intelligent, caring, romantic, supportive, and confident. Not to mention downright gorgeous. America loved it when France greeted him with a small smile and a ‘good morning’ every day. He loved it when France gave him goodnight kisses, and he especially loved it when he would call America pet names in his language- _Amérique_ (America), _mon cher_ (my dear), _chaton_ (kitten), _mon amour_ (my love), _trésor_ (treasure), _mon coeur_ (my heart), and a few others that America didn’t understand. They were still nice, though, even when he couldn’t translate them. In short, he didn’t want France to get shot.

America shook his head, clearing his thoughts. He glanced over at Addison and then paused, examining his flushed face and heaving chest. “Hey, you don’t look so good.”

Addison rolled his eyes, but it seemed to cause him discomfort because he pressed a hand to his harshly sunburned forehead. “Wow, thanks.”

“No, no, I mean that you look unwell.”

He shrugged, chuckling. “I mean, it’s a little hot.”

“How do you feel?”

“Um… my head hurts a lot. I feel really tired and nauseous. I’m fine, though, don’t worry about it.”

“I don’t think you can just ignore this. When was the last time you had water?”

He furrowed his brow. “This morning when I got up.”

“It’s past noon!”

“I’m okay, really, I’m…” Just as he said that, he took an unsteady breath and slumped against the wall, which would have been ironic and funny if America weren’t so concerned. A battlefield was not a good place to faint.

America swung his musket over his shoulder and grabbed Addison, glancing around for a way out. There was a path through some scraggly bushes that looked like they could provide some cover. But where would he take him?

The safest place America could think of was back up on the hill with the generals, but that was a long way away, and if Addison were hit by a bullet, he’d die. Just as he was about to make a run for it, he heard the call, “Retreat!”

But it wasn’t from one of his superiors. It was from the other side of the wall. Riskily, he peeked over the stones. The redcoats were running immediately, racing away toward the thicker forest. America barely believed what he saw until a colonel rounded up the men by his wall and had them pull back so that Washington could unleash the artillery’s full power.

He carried Addison, who woke up groggily, but who slipped back into unconsciousness after a dazed, “Wha…?”

They made their way back weakly, stopping to fire as they went, but America was able to get Addison into the shade of a tree and flag down a medic that came over with a knife. She cut through his shirt to allow the stale breeze to cool him down and called for water. Another woman had some, and they made Addison drink it before telling him to rest in the shade.

“Thank you,” America said as they hurried off to help someone else. “You’re an idiot, Addison. Why didn’t you bring your waterskin?”

“I did.”

“Well then where did all the water go?”

Addison laughed sheepishly. “I traded it to another soldier for some jackstones.”

He stared. “You’re kidding me, right? You traded your waterskin for a game of jackstones?”

“It gets boring at camp!” He defended.

“Just shut up and rest,” America said with a sigh. “I’m going to go find Kaiya and Halona to make sure they’re okay.”

“Tell them that I have jackstones for us to use in the cabin!”

America just rolled his eyes.

*************

America stared down at the letter in his hands, thoroughly shocked. “Wow. ‘Dirty earwigs’? ‘Guilty of a cruel act of injustice’? I don’t even know what to say.”

Washington nodded. “I know. How dare he? How dare Lee write such a disrespectful, unsubstantiated, hypocritical letter?”

“It’s too early in the morning for big words, but I get what you mean,” America said, setting the paper down. “What are you going to do?”

“Write back to him. I’ll tell him that his tone is inappropriate and that I will launch an investigation into this.”

“And what?”

“Get him in trouble for disrespecting the leader of the Continental Army.”

He frowned. “I dunno. Don’t get me wrong, I hate General Lee as much as the next guy, but it seems a little controlling. Isn’t one of the reasons we’re fighting this war so that we can have a country where you can speak your mind about your superiors without fear of punishment?”

“Lee has been plotting to take my place for years, America. I hardly think it’s unreasonable to stop his slander in his conquest for my position.”

“But why do other people get to say whatever and he doesn’t? He said it privately. He didn’t send it to the press; it’s not a large political dispute- I don’t think he was that out of line. Just talk to him privately.”

He scoffed. “You think that will help?”

“It might. Why are you so angry lately?”

Washington raised a brow. “Excuse me?”

“You’re always mad now. You rant about Lee all the time, you yell at the soldiers for small mistakes, and you’ve got this priority complex that says that some people deserve more freedoms than others.”

“I’m the Commander-In-Chief, America. You are my advisor. I appreciate your input, but you need to know when to be quiet.”

“Whatever you say, sir.”

That was the end of that conversation, but it was a slight disturbance in America and Washington’s relationship. They weren’t actively fighting each other, but they’d had multiple issues and differences of opinion lately that America wasn’t sure he was comfortable with.

Unfortunately, that wasn’t their last argument. Their next one was after getting word of a horrible, gruesome battle in the Wyoming Valley of Pennsylvania.

It started with the murder of three citizens at a mill, which served as a warning that the redcoats and their Iroquois allies were coming. An inexperienced militia that was in their path tried to negotiate a treaty to appease the invaders and buy time to get back up, but it didn’t work out. At night, the English colonel ordered a fort to be burned and for the Seneca to lay on the ground to hide themselves. Believing them to have retreated, the patriots moved forward quickly, drawn into the trap. They were fired upon at close range and then fought in hand-to-hand combat for forty-five minutes. Eventually, they were forced to turn tail and run as fast as they could. It was a ferocious, fear-filled race. The enemy did not allow the retreat to happen, instead pursuing animalistically, hunting down the patriots as they fled and scalping 227 Americans.

Barely any of the militiamen escaped. Those captured were killed, and the ones that surrendered were tortured until they died. The next closest fort heard all of the information and, terrified, surrendered to the British colonel once promised that they wouldn’t be harmed. Some were still molested, but most of them were led away without bullets in their heads. Considering the conditions of prison ships, America wasn’t sure whether that was a blessing or a curse.

America was furious. He wanted to retaliate immediately. There was a meeting of officers where he ranted for an hour about the misconduct of the Seneca and the redcoats, and some of the others agreed with him. Washington was hesitant, though. He wasn’t sure that revenge was the best option.

Washington lost the argument in the end, especially once Hamilton pointed out how angry the public was and how they wanted him to launch a campaign against them. He promised that he’d put General Sullivan in charge of an expectation, but there was no timeline on that.

That evening, he’d stormed around the summer tent, yelling his frustrations to Addison, Kaiya, Halona, and France until he exhausted himself. Then, France led him to bed and tucked the quilt under his chin with a kiss and a ‘Get some sleep, _mon cher._ My fleet just reached New York; this will all be over soon’- which was comforting.

Their next argument was after King Louis XVI declared war on Great Britain and got ships to Delaware. The king sent a personal letter that France had to translate for him. In it, he thanked America for sending Silas Deane overseas and gushed his praises about him. He also said that Silas been asked to return home in March. Although by the time America received the letter, the expensive warship that Louis sent Silas home on had arrived on America’s shore, and Silas was on his way to Philadelphia with a diamond-studded portrait frame as a token of Louis’ affection.

“I believe my king is smitten with your friend,” France had joked.

All of that was well and good, but when America asked Washington for permission to go to Philadelphia and see Silas, he was denied his request, even when America explained that Congress was falsely accusing him of embezzlement.

That one had been short because America basically boiled over, stomped away, and went to his tent to scream into his pillow while Halona patted his back and asked, “Uh… you good there?”

In an ideal world, things would settle after that, but Washington was stressed, causing him to lash out when he decided to launch an attack in Rhode Island. He sent Sullivan, Greene, Lafayette, and some others to fight with Continentals, French forces, and some volunteer Canadians. Canada wasn’t there, though, tied up in Quebec by duties and British supervision.

France departed with Lafayette, but Washington made America stay behind for no reason other than to punish him for when he shouted at him over going to Philadelphia.

Charles Lee’s trials ended just so that they could begin those of Silas Deane. He was viciously accused of fraud, treason, theft, and a thousand other things that Arthur Lee had planted in the minds of Congressmen.

Massachusetts banished over three hundred people who didn’t support the United States’ formation, which was a hot, controversial topic that Washington and America didn’t fully agree on, either.

In short, they were not getting along, and America had a feeling that it was going to come back to bite him in the ass.

*************

Emma Jenkins couldn’t help but gaze at Sebastian Westington with adoration. Since their introduction, she’d been spending most of her time with him and was quickly finding herself head over heels for the young earl.

He was handsome, sophisticated, intelligent, and undeniably charming. They went on walks daily, strolling through New York arm in arm while they got to know each other. His father was an English earl until he died four years ago. His mother was an Austrian noblewoman and the third cousin once removed of Holy Roman Emperor Joseph II, but she died in childbirth. He was the sole heir to the Westington fortune, which he inherited upon his father’s death.

After learning about his family’s grand history, she felt ashamed to admit that her father was a Boston baker, but Sebastian didn’t seem to care. He only asked if she knew how to bake, which she confirmed, and he made her promise to teach him how.

From the moment she met the earl, her life was turned upside down. He always made sure she was content, he bought her expensive gifts (really, how many diamond necklaces does one girl need?), and he never overstepped his boundaries.

One night, over dinner, he asked her, “There is a ball next Saturday that I am expected to attend. I was wondering if you would accompany me.”

She had blinked once, twice, and barely been able to stutter out, “Yes, I’d love to!”

There were lavish balls held in New York often because it had become a haven for the loyalist upper class. Emma would never have imagined that she’d find her way into such a party, but the next day he took her to a tailor to be fitted for a gown, and before she knew it, she was climbing out of a carriage while a footman held her hand to steady her.

Walking in such large, heavy skirts was difficult, but she couldn’t be happier. Her blonde hair was pinned up, silk gloves covered her hands, a strand of pearls adorned her neck, and the ruffled sleeves of her rose-colored dress fell to her elbows. She’d never felt prettier than when Sebastian had been momentarily speechless.

“You look... beautiful.”

Emma smiled and took his extended arm. They climbed the steps of the manor that the celebration was being held in. She didn’t know anyone else besides Sebastian, and typically, that would make her nervous. But for once, she didn’t have a care in the world.

Sebastian didn’t look half-bad, either. His military jacket had fancy buttons, and he’d worn his most decorative white cravat, but most dazzling of all were his mystical green eyes that drew her in without even trying.

The manor was as extravagant as its guests with multiple crystal chandeliers dangling above them, golden drapes over tall, arching windows, candelabras mounted on the walls, and a group of musicians in the corner playing for the lords, ladies, dukes, dutchesses, and other nobles that spun around the dancefloor.

He led her into the throng of people and grinned. “May I have this dance?”

When she was young, her father had taught her how to dance, but that was a long time ago. Hesitantly, she nodded. “I’ll try my best.”

The affair started easy enough, with men and women in two different lines. Everyone did the same thing, which meant that she could follow the example of a woman in front of her. That dance included no contact between herself and Sebastian, which was slightly disappointing.

However, the second song was much more lively. The violins happily sang their tunes while ball-goers hopped and flounced with more active footwork. Generally, the dances were repetitive, though, and she got the hang of it quickly.

Sebastian didn’t leave her hanging during the more difficult dances; he made sure to lead well when they could hold hands. His were soft and steady, guiding her in circular paths and reassuring her that she was doing fine. Dancing may not have been her strong suit, but as the night wore on and Sebastian twirled her through the crowd, she forgot about that and let her worries slip away.

They were caught up in the tinkle of the harpsichord, the lilt of the cello, and the joyful, fluttering sounds of the flutes. There was nowhere she’d rather be than right there with Sebastian’s hands in hers, living a life she’d only dreamed of.

Breaks were necessary sometimes for food. Sebastian would take her arm, and they’d skate through the mass of people to the sidelines.

Sometimes, people would come up to Sebastian and greet him formally before taking Emma’s hand to kiss the back of it, normally saying something like, “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

One person that did not do that was Arthur Kirkland, who happened upon them. He smiled, gave Sebastian a nod, and took Emma’s hand, saying, “Hello, Miss Jenkins.”

She smiled back, but for once, she didn’t feel the flutter in her gut that normally came with his presence. “Hello, Arthur.”

“It’s wonderful to see you two. How are you doing?”

“Splendid,” Sebastian answered. “We’ve had a wonderful time since you introduced us. Thank you for that.”

“Anything for a friend.”

Sebastian nodded. “I heard about your latest victory in Wyoming. Congratulations.”

“I wasn’t there,” Arthur clarified. “I was with General Howe.”

“Still, it is a victory for his majesty, isn’t it?”

“Yes, I suppose.”

Emma swayed the conversation away from unsettling subjects. “How are Kaiya and Halona?”

“I wouldn’t know. I haven’t seen them much. They have chosen the wrong side of the war.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. I wasn’t aware that they were traitors.”

Arthur opened his mouth to say something before he froze and looked over at the small orchestra.

“What is it?” Sebastian asked.

He stared at the musicians, obviously upset. “This song…”

Emma cocked her head and listened. “Canon in D Major by Pachabel. What, you don’t like it?”

He swallowed and looked back at them with distressed eyes. “I’m sorry, you’ll have to excuse me.”

Emma blinked at him. “Arthur?”

Arthur didn’t answer. He strode out of the ballroom as fast as he could out into the cool night air. Emma and the earl watched him leave, confused.

“What was that about?” She wondered aloud.

Sebastian shrugged. “Should we go after him?”

“No. He looked upset. I think we should just give him some space.” Shaking away her concern, she took his hand. “Come on. Let’s dance again.”

*************

England pressed his back against the wall of the mansion, gasping for breath. He tugged at his cravat to loosen it and squeezed his eyes shut. From out here, he could barely hear the music inside, but it was stuck inside him even so.

Visions of him in Boston were flashing through his mind- visions with a piano, the same song, a kiss that had left him dizzy, and blue, blue eyes staring back at him.

*************

August 30, 1778

Dear America,

I hate to burden you right now. I know you are very busy with General Washington and the war, but I need to vent about this.

Congress is a thirty-headed beast that wants to eat me alive. Arthur Lee has stirred up more trouble than I know what to do with and he has too many allies. I just don’t know what to do. All of my ledgers, documents, and books are in France because I was under the impression that I would be returning after giving a short report. That means I have no evidence to defend myself with, which my enemies have twisted, saying that I didn’t bring them to hide my wrongdoings. Defending myself is difficult when I’m up against Thomas Paine, Samuel Adams, Roger Sherman, Arthur Lee, Richard Henry Lee, and all of their supporters.

Could you ask General Washington again about testifying? There are very, very few people here that believe me. John Jay is defending me, but he and Thomas Jefferson are my only friends who are here besides you. The other ones who are listening to me are Dr. Franklin and my good friend Edward Bancroft, who are both in France. I mean, I met the Marquis de Lafayette and the Baron von Steuben when I recruited them to send them to help you, but I doubt they’d remember me.

Don’t worry about me, though. I’m staying with General Benedict Arnold, who was kind enough to offer me a room. He has kept me company and I enjoy speaking with him. Best of luck, my friend. Be careful.

Warmest wishes,

S. Deane


	39. Continental Blue and French Affection

“I prefer dangerous freedom over peaceful slavery.” -Thomas Jefferson

France lifted another spoonful of soup from his bowl and held it out to Lafayette. Weakly, the marquis accepted it. “You don’t have to do this, _Monsieur France.”_

He tutted. “Nonsense. Take another bite.”

America entered Lafayette’s cabin and gave him a small smile. “Hey. How are you feeling, Laf?”

“I am alright, America, really.”

“He is not any better,” France answered for him.

Sighing, America pulled up a chair and straddled it, resting his arms on its back and his chin on them. “I’m worried about you. Has Kaiya given you anything yet?”

“Yes, an herbal tea.”

America plucked the washcloth off his forehead and took it away. “I’ll go get you some cooler water.”

“You do not need to-”

“Thank you, _mon chéri,”_ France replied pointedly.

After planting a kiss on France’s cheek, America headed out of the cabin. Lafayette smiled at France. “You two seem happy.”

“We are. I know it is wrong, but I am glad England is out of the picture. I have had my eye on him for a long time.”

“May I ask you something, _Monsieur France?”_

He gestured for Lafayette to continue.

“Do you truly care for America, or is your relationship with him a form of vengeance against your enemy, England?”

France sighed. “Simply: both. Or, as America would say, long answer: it has changed over time. Before the Seven Years War, I just enjoyed his company. We were friends, and I found him to be _mignon._ During the war, I began to consider taking him from England in the political sense. He was, after all, England’s greatest weakness. But we did not win, unfortunately, and England took Canada instead. I believe that caused a shift. I began to pay my affections for America that had already been there more attention because I knew the only way to hurt England as badly as he hurt me was to take his precious little _Amérique._ I wanted to support America when this war began to harm _Angleterre_ but once I came here, I began to care more about him. He is hard not to love, _non?_ Now, I believe I am his _amour_ because I like him. However, I cannot say it does not delight me to know _Angleterre_ is suffering because of it.”

“Then I wish you two the best of luck. When I am gone-”

“You are not dying, _mon ami._ You are not well, that is certain, but you will recover, and then you can make your trip back home. Tell Louis and Marie hello from me.”

Lafayette chuckled. “I hope the king does not execute me for running off.”

France rolled his eyes. “I am sure that, at worst, you will get a day or two of house arrest, especially since we are allies with the United States now.”

“I’m back!” America chirped, throwing the cabin’s door open and folding a damp rag to place on Lafayette’s head. “Your fever will break any day now, Laf, just you wait!”

“Thank you, America.” He burst into a fit of coughs while France patted his back in reassurance. His shoulders fell when his lungs were satisfied, and France prodded his lips with the spoon.

“You must eat.”

Hesitantly, Lafayette opened his mouth to let France feed him. His face was ashen and dark circles, signs of loss of sleep, were around his eyes. Lafayette needed to return to Versailles and had applied to go home on leave, which he got permission for, but his health rapidly spiraled, delaying his trip.

Lafayette wasn’t the only friend of America’s who was struggling. The heat surrounding Silas was increasing daily. He published a series of anonymous essays to point out Arthur Lee’s wrongdoings, but that only fanned the flames.

Times were getting desperate for the revolution, too. In Little Egg Harbor, New Jersey, another massacre had occurred at an outpost. In the dead of night, unarmed patriots were bayoneted in their beds. The main camp didn’t hear their screams until it was far too late, and the redcoats retreated, leaving fifty dead behind them.

His government was a mess because the Republic of Vermont wanted to take towns from the state of New Hampshire that had petitioned to join, which Congress didn’t like. Vermont’s government was arguing over whether or not they should remerge with the US as a state so that they could make their own decisions but still be part of the Union, go back to being part of New Hampshire, or stay independent (which was, of course, a disaster). America had a feeling they’d end up joining the Union in one form or another because as far as he knew, there had been no personification of Vermont found, and like with all his states, if he focused, he could sense its presence.

“America? Are you okay?” France asked.

He blinked. “Oh, yeah, sorry. Just lost in thought.”

“That is alright. Let us allow the marquis to rest.” He offered his hand and pulled America up before sashaying out of the cabin, America right behind him. “Washington asked for you.”

“What for?”

France shrugged. “I do not know, but I am going to go find Hamilton. I will see you later, alright?” 

“Sure,” America replied, watching France leave. Sighing, he pulled his coat in tighter around him. Autumn had come, warning them of the bitterly cold winter that was sure to follow. They’d already taken up residence in New Jersey, building cabins and stuffing the cracks with clay.

Reaching Washington’s headquarters (yet another house he was renting), he entered without acknowledging himself, which he was allowed to do, though it irritated the commander. Not that America cared, though. In fact, he did it in part _because_ it irked him. Tensions between them had not gotten any better.

Washington looked up. He’d been whittling away at a chunk of wood while Kaiya and Halona sat patiently on a bench, waiting for America’s arrival. “Ah, America. There you are.”

“I was with Lafayette. What are Kaiya and Halona here for?”

“Support. Nevermind that, how is the marquis?”

“The same. Why don’t you go check on him yourself?”

He took a slow, steady breath to calm himself. “I do not want to argue right now, son. I have many important things to tell you.”

“Fine,” America grumbled, slumping down in a chair and glancing at the girls. What had Washington meant by ‘support’?

“Good. First, New Jersey has agreed to the terms of the Articles of Confederation, which is the first step towards establishing a proper government.”

“Thank god.”

“Second, your friend, Silas Deane, has gotten into some trouble for publicly ridiculing Congressman Arthur Lee. I don’t know all the details, but I know he told his side and it has upset many.”

America groaned. “Ugh, Silas is such an idiot.”

“The intelligence of Mr. Deane is not the issue at hand. Third, Charles Lee’s verdict has been made official. He is going to be suspended from the military for a year.”

“For saying stuff you didn’t like.”

“For using slander against the Commander-in-Chief, disrespect, and insubordination.”

He stared at him with a blank expression. “Great. What else?”

“John Jay has taken over as president of the Continental Congress, who I will be visiting soon.”

“Not to disrespect you, sir- because I wouldn’t want to be sued and suspended from the military- but this all sounds like small potatoes. Couldn’t this wait until the next briefing?”

Washington didn’t berate him, which took him by surprise. He only looked… tired. Exhausted. Defeated. It wasn’t a look America was used to seeing on him, and it made him uneasy. He straightened and changed his tone. “Sir, what’s wrong?”

“There’s been an incident in Cherry Valley, New York.”

“What kind of incident?”

The general paused before leaning his chin on his hand. “English and Iroquois forces, the same ones that killed so many in Wyoming, launched an attack. Our Oneida allies warned a fort of ours in advance, but precautions weren’t properly taken in time. They broke into an officer’s house after killing the soldiers. They murdered him and his entire family of twelve before destroying a nearby town and murdering every civilian they saw.”

America’s eyes were wide as Kaiya jumped off the bench to hug him in reassurance. “That… That can’t be right. A town?”

“It seems the Seneca wanted vengeance on us after our military campaign against them. They felt like it was biased and too harsh, so they wanted payback.”

“So they slaughtered a bunch of civilians?”

“And went back to capture as many as they could the next morning. Seventy, if you were wondering. An English captain tried to keep the Seneca from attacking the women and children but was unsuccessful. Despite talking about it with representatives, they have shown no remorse, only pride in the number of scalps they took.”

His chest felt tight. Citizens, bystanders, unarmed, defenseless civilians were brutally butchered with tomahawks and knives. America’s expression hardened. “We must strike back. This will not go unpunished.”

“I don’t think that is the best idea. The reason they killed those people was that we struck back after Wyoming.”

“But the massacre there was uncalled for, too! They’re violent and ruthless monsters, General!”

Kaiya tried saying, “‘Mer, I understand that you are upset, but-”

“Children are dead because those savages barbarically destroyed them! Children! They’re my people, Kaiya! It’s my job to protect them and do what is best for them. Those children were mine! Those soldiers were mine! Every last one of them was American, and I can’t let this slide. The Seneca will pay for this!”

Halona raised a brow. “Savages?”

“Yes! You can’t tell me you listened to this story and thought of them as reasonable. They’re wild, unorganized, chaotic beasts that won’t follow orders of the British commanders, which is costing us lives!”

“America-” Kaiya began gently.

“You, too? Are you kidding me? How can you be okay with this? How many times have we named an Iroquois ambush a massacre? How many times, Kaiya?”

She slunk back, looking pained. “I’m not saying it was a good thing. But… aren’t we at war?”

“They were civilians!”

Halona stepped between America and Kaiya. “You need to take a few deep breaths before you keep going on like this.”

His eyes burned with fury, but Halona stood her ground, even as he yelled, “You’re defending those animals?”

“Right, animals. You know who you’re beginning to sound a lot like?” Halona asked. “The same people who burned native villages and cut down entire tribes.”

America faltered. “I’m not saying that all natives are like that. Just the Iroquois.”

“We’re Iroquois,” Halona reminded him. “The Oneidas are part of the Six Nations.”

“Well, obviously, I wasn’t talking about the Oneida tribe-”

“No? What makes our tribe so different from the Seneca? We practice the same religion, you know. Our languages are very similar. The cultures we have are nearly identical. So what makes us people but them animals?”

He seemed to lose the last of his anger as he grasped at words. “Because you took our side.”

“So are the English soldiers animals, too, then?”

“Of course not, I-”

“It is just the natives, then?” She narrowed her eyes at him. “You need to think about the context and history of words before you use them. Terms like ‘savage’ aren’t ones I thought I’d hear you call people like us.”

“I-”

“Well, if you’ll excuse me, I have things to do. Holes to dig, random rodents to eat, things like that. You know, animal things.” Halona grabbed Kaiya’s hand and escorted her out of the house without another word.

Immediately, America felt guilty. “Shit.”

Washington glanced at the door awkwardly. “So… Do you want to launch a campaign against the Seneca or not?”

“Yes, yes, but I need to go talk to them.”

“Give them some space for now. I think your apology will go over better if you do it when Halona isn’t angry.”

He sank into his chair. “You’re probably right.”

*************

The holidays were times of giving and joy. Despite being in Middlebrook freezing to death, that spirit was alive, mostly because Washington had decided he was fed up with his army being a mess and unrecognizable by anything other than bloody feet and starved bodies.

After battling Congress for funds, he had finally purchased coats for the whole army so that they now had a uniform. America had not gotten a lot of input on it, but he liked it nonetheless. The coats were like his- blue, warm, and very spiffy if he did say so himself. They were accompanied by white waistcoats, which would probably get stained very quickly, facings of different colors depending on which regiment you were from, breeches, hunting shirts, black tricorn hats, and dark-colored shoes. Of course, because the American soldiers were uncoordinated sometimes and had a general streak of defiance in them anyway, there were many whose uniforms weren’t exactly up to code, but the officers didn’t care. The point of the coat was so that they wore a color exactly the opposite of red. It made a statement, and it made their army appear more credible.

France liked the blue coat so much that he wore it in the cabin sometimes even though the French armies had white ones. Mostly, he liked how the blue looked on America. Once, he said it brought out his eyes before kissing him, which had made America’s head spin.

Washington wasn’t there to see his blue army, though. He was in Philadelphia to talk to Congress about who-knows-what and wouldn’t be back until who-knows-when with Hamilton, Laurens, and some others.

After the turning of the year, Lafayette went back to his home country. Just as France had predicted, he recovered from his illness, despite all his groaning about how this was the end for him. He was very overdramatic.

New York had succeeded in capturing and hanging a terrorist, which was good. But other than that, there wasn’t much news.

“Do you think the redcoats will leave Savannah, Georgia before I go join Captain Jones?” Addison wondered aloud. He was upside down, hanging off his bed with his head on the floor and a very thoughtful expression on his face (shocking, I know).

“Probably not. But the southern theater of the war isn’t my problem,” America said.

“Um, you’re America. Isn’t it _all_ your problem?”

He paused in folding a shirt. “I mean, yeah, but Georgia is in good hands with Generals Greene, Gates, Lincoln, and Morgan.”

Kaiya, who was braiding Halona’s hair while sitting cross-legged on their bed, added. “I think the generals are very capable.”

After a heartfelt apology, America and the girls had reconciled. Things went back to normal and their cabin of five was peaceful again.

“Are you excited to join the Navy?” France asked Addison. He was lounging on his bed, which was pushed into the front right corner, opposite America’s and parallel to the girls’.

Addison nodded. “A bit nervous, too. I sure will miss you guys.”

“It’ll be okay, Addison,” Kaiya consoled. “Trust me, you’ll get on that ship and never have to think about Middlebrook again.”

“When do you leave?” Halona asked.

“Friday, February thirteenth, so twelve days.”

“How lucky.”

“I know.”

France tsked. “Silly superstition. There is no reason to worry.”

“I’m not worried about that. It’s just… What if I end up hating it? I can’t just jump off the ship and come back to the army.”

“Are you kidding?” America asked. “You were born for this, Addison. You’ve lived your whole life on the ocean. You’ve got the sea in your veins. I have no doubt in my mind you are going to be the best damn ensign Captain Jones has ever seen.”

He smiled. “Thanks, America.”

“Have you gotten any news on the uprising in India?” Halona asked. “I heard it was getting intense.”

America nodded. “Yes, actually. The British had to surrender. I’m hoping that this will help weaken the empire. Not only that, but India deserves freedom.”

“Do you know her?”

“I met her twice. She’s really nice, but she’s strong-willed, too. I was surprised England managed to take over her land at first. She fought him hand-to-hand when the British invaded, and she put up a hell of a fight considering that he was an empire.”

Halona grinned. “She sounds cool.”

“Oh, she is. She’s championing the resistance there, and I do not doubt that she’ll have full control of her own country someday. Anyway, I was thinking about writing to Spain to ask for help. Now that France is on my side, there’s an excellent chance he’ll declare war on England, too.”

“You should do that,” France told him.

Kaiya glanced between them. “Who’s Spain?”

“The personification of the Spanish Empire.”

Halona rolled her eyes. “Well, yeah, no shit, but _who_ is he?”

“Oh. He is laid-back until you make him angry,” France said. “His personality is fairly easy-going most of the time. There is nothing he loves more than sword fighting, though food is a close second. But do not trust him. He is skilled at tricking you into thinking he is the good guy, but the moment he decides you are an enemy, he will kill you. He has not lost that conquistador mindset, no matter how innocent he acts.”

“I don’t trust him!” America piped up. “But he gets along with France sometimes, and he hates England, which is enough for me.”

“Why does he hate England?”

America shrugged with a semi-frown. “They used to fuck once in a while when they were in their early pirate days until England beat him in the Thirty Years War. He got bitter and pissed off about that. When explorers discovered the New World, they were very competitive about staking claim to the land here. He, England, France, Portugal, the Netherlands, and some smaller countries were all racing to take as much land as possible.”

“But it wasn’t discovered,” Halona corrected. “Native tribes had been here for a long time before that.”

France nodded, grinning sheepishly. “Yes. Sorry.”

“Why were they so desperate for land?” Kaiya asked, changing the subject.

“Spreading religion, riches, and fame, but to the personifications, it was more of a pissing contest than anything else,” America explained. “Anyway, the point is that they didn’t like each other. Then the Italian Wars came along, during which England fought against him for a time. England fought hard and nearly killed him. It was brutal because Spain gets passionate about anything involving Italy. Or, really, Southern Italy. He is in possession of some of the southern states, and he adores their personification, Romano. They’re a couple.”

“Sounds like he could be helpful. You should write to him,” Halona decided.

“Yeah, but I don’t know what to say. Does he speak English, or do I need a translator?”

France pushed himself off his bed and padded over to America’s bed to sink into it beside him, pulling him against his chest with a kiss on his neck. “He speaks English, and I will help you write it.”

“You will?”

“Of course, _mon cher._ The key to convincing Spain of anything is to make him see that it affects him personally. You will succeed if you can somehow incorporate Romano.”

“I think I can do that.”

*************

February 1, 1779

To the Spanish Empire,

I’m sure the war between the French Empire, the British Empire, and myself has come to your attention. France and I have had lots of success so far both on land and at sea. We feel confident that we can win this war, especially if we have additional support. That is why I am writing to you.

Europe’s balance of power has been uneven since the Seven Years War when England gained so much territory in the New World. You know that he doesn’t need any more land. Land equals power, and neither of us wants to live in a world where England has any more than he already has.

If England was able to take more from France, he could monopolize on trade between overseas colonies and would gain more advantages in the Caribbean, jeopardizing your colonies in South America like the Captaincy General of Venezuela, Paraguay Province, Banda Oriental, the Viceroyalty of the Río de la Plata, the Viceroyalty of New Granada, the Viceroyalty of Peru, and the Governorate of Chile.

England is also insatiable. He’s taken European countries before, and while I am sure you could resist him and prevent him from reaching Madrid, it would be more difficult for your allies to stop him. If not yourself, think of Romano.

I wish you the best and I dearly hope that you will understand that joining me will be mutually beneficial.

Sincerely,

The United States of America

*************

America pushed the last bag into the carriage and turned back to Addison. He fidgeted with his hands, unsure what to say now and feeling a sinking dread inside him.

Luckily, Addison always knew what to say. “Hey, it’ll be alright. I promise I won’t drown.”

“Wow. I feel so much better.”

Addison laughed. “Don’t worry about me. I can take care of myself. You’ve got to stay here and look after the rest of the army. You and the infantry are going to do a great job, I know it.”

“It won’t be the same without you.”

“Keep up the sweet talk, America, and I might just have to take you with me,” He said with a wink.

He rolled his eyes. “Alright, alright, get out of here.”

Chuckling, Addison gave him a brief side hug. “See ya later. Don’t let Kaiya work too hard and make sure Patrick doesn’t accidentally shoot himself during drills.”

“No promises on either of those.”

The driver finally came over, looking scruffy and tired. “Ready to go?”

“You bet,” Addison said, opening the carriage door. “I’ll see you on the other side of the war, Al. Try not to lose.”

“I’ll do my best if you do.”

“You’ve got my word.”

America gave him a sad smile and patted his shoulder. “Bye, Addison.”

“Bye.”

The ginger climbed into the carriage and shut the door, giving America a wave before the driver of the carriage took off down the dirt road, sending billows of dust up behind it. America watched it roll over the hill and disappear over the crest before turning and trudging back toward camp.

His eyes lifted a bit, and he saw a woman in warm clothes shuffling toward him. Her eyes were kind, and she smiled at him comfortingly. “Come here, America.”

He gave her an unenthusiastic smile back. “Hi, Mrs. Washington.”

Martha Washington, the wife of the Commander-in-Chief, was one of the most motherly people America knew. She had returned with her husband after his meeting in Philadelphia and was very fond of America. Her hugs were like coming home and she smelled like apple pie just out of the oven.

“How are you doing, honey?” She asked, petting his hair and pulling him into a tight embrace.

“I’m fine. Addison is a good sailor.”

“That won’t make the worry go away, though, now will it?” She straightened out his jacket and beckoned him toward camp. “Come on, let’s get you inside. It’s chilly out here. You wouldn’t want to catch a cold.”

America followed her back toward headquarters with little enthusiasm. “Thank you, Mrs. Washington.”

“Of course, dear. Have you and George settled that little tiff you had yesterday?”

Her question elicited a groan. The arguments between himself and Washington were settling down, but they’d disagreed over when to leave their winter encampments the day before. America wanted to close the camp in April or May, while Washington wanted to wait until early June. They hadn’t spoken since their fight.

It wasn’t entirely their fault. Both were stressed out, Washington particularly. Before he returned from Philadelphia, Laurens and Charles Lee had gotten into a duel that ended with a bullet in Lee’s side. The contest was over Charles Lee’s slander about the Commander-In-Chief, and the shot did a lot in shutting him up, but to have your aide-de-camp and a fellow general shooting each other over verbal disagreements wasn’t good for keeping the peace.

French troops were swooping in to save their revolution, but America was worried that they’d fail despite refusing to say it. Silas had done a great job convincing King Louis, but now he was stuck in Philadelphia being called a traitor, meaning he couldn’t keep telling Louis all the reasons he should stay on their side. America just hoped it wouldn’t cause an issue. Arthur Lee was off-putting and wouldn’t be as good at Silas’ job. At least Dr. Franklin was there.

“Sounds like you didn’t,” Martha commented. She sighed and rubbed his shoulder. “Why don’t you go back to your cabin, sweetheart? France is there, I believe, and your two friends are both busy.”

“I think I will,” America said, stepping away. “Thank you for checking on me.”

“Of course, dear. Come by the house if you want some pie, alright?”

He grinned. “Alright.”

With a wave and a goodbye, America hurried back to his cabin, more than ready to escape the frosty winds of February. Inside, he found France lounging on his bed with a book thrown open.

“Hey, France. What are you reading?”

At his arrival, France set the book aside. “Voltaire. How are you, _mon coeur?_ I know you did not want Addison to leave.”

“I’m fine, just stressed.”

“How so?”

He shrugged, removing his boots and flopping down on the bed beside his lover. “I just keep thinking about Addison and… England, lately, too.”

“And you require distraction?”

America nodded. “I don’t like thinking about any of it. It’s all just so draining, you know?”

France hummed and pecked his forehead. “I know all too well. What can I do to help you?”

He scoffed. “You’ve already done so much, France. Don’t worry about it.”

“No, no. I want you to feel better, _mon cher._ To make you happy makes me happy. Would you like me to rub your back?”

Again, America waved him off. “It’s okay, really. I’ve just got to think about something else, and you can’t exactly make me do that.”

A subtle smirk crossed France’s features. “I beg to differ, _Amérique._ There are very few things I am better at than distracting others, and I think I know the perfect way to get your mind off of Addison and _Angleterre_ if you would like.”

France leaned down, pressing his lips to America’s, soft at first but getting more and more passionate. America was taken by surprise, but kissed back eagerly, leaning into his touch and lifting a hand to cup his cheek.

Each point of contact felt comfortable. Kissing France was like that- uncomplicated. To be with him wasn’t taxing, draining, or difficult. It was just effortless and calm. France wanted him and he wanted France: simple and easy. So why not surrender to his every touch?

America pulled back briefly, breathless. He stared into France’s face, slightly flushed from pausing his breathing. The look in his bewitching eyes sent heat straight to America’s gut. “I think I’d like that.”

France pulled him into his arms with an elbow crooked under America’s right knee to settle him into a straddling position over France’s lap.

“Do you know when Kaiya and Halona will return?” France murmured, nipping at America’s ear and jaw.

Faintly, he shook his head. “No, but they’re hard workers. I’m sure we have plenty of time.”

The European nation grinned and left a chaste kiss on America’s lips. As eager as he was to strip America of his clothes for the first time, he was willing to be patient. Besides, that drew the experience out longer.

They tumbled into the blankets, holding one another, legs entwining and, for the first time in years, America felt the thought of England slip away.


	40. Espionage in Three Forms

“We have one advantage over our enemy. It is our power to be free, or nobly die in defense of liberty.” -Benedict Arnold

America could barely believe what he was hearing. “That’s impossible.”

Washington shrugged. “I’m very sorry to say that it is, indeed, possible. I’m as shocked as you are.”

“But General Arnold has fought so well for us. He can’t be court-martialed for malfeasance.”

“I’m not Congress, America. I don’t make those kinds of decisions.”

“Can’t you do anything?”

The general sighed in irritation. “No, not really. Are you done packing?”

“Don’t try to change the subject.”

“Don’t try to tell me what to do!”

Martha Washington entered the room with a tray of tea and some biscuits. “Are you two arguing again? Honestly, it needs to stop! How will you work together if you cannot even have a civil conversation? What is this about?”

Washington started to say, “Nothing,” but America cut him off.

“General Benedict Arnold is getting court-martialed for malfeasance.”

Her eyes widened. “Oh, goodness. That poor man. He’s such a good soul.”

“Yeah, and the commander won’t let me go defend him in court, just like how he won’t let me go defend Silas Deane!”

Washington was fed up. “Stop it, America. I have work to do, and your petty complaints are getting in the way of it. If you want, take some biscuits for the road, but you need to go now. Get packed if you’re not already. We’re leaving today.”

America felt like screaming as he stormed out of the Middlebrook headquarters. There was nothing he hated more than being treated like a child. Washingtons’ paternal presence in his life was great until they didn’t agree on something.

A soldier scuttled up to America anxiously, holding an envelope. “Excuse me, Mister Jones?”

“What?”

“Erm, a letter came for you, sir.”

He took it from the soldier’s hand with a nod that dismissed him. The paper was crisp and had a fancy wax seal over it. The handwriting wasn’t recognizable to him, but he broke it open and pulled out its contents, glancing at the bottom before reading the message. Spain had responded.

2 March 1779

The United States of America,

Your arguments are valid and convincing. I am intrigued by your request, and I would like to assist you in your endeavors to defeat the British Empire. However, my ruler, King Charles III, will never consent to a treaty with your fledgling nation. It would go against our monarchial ideals and governmental system.

Declaring war on the British Empire is possible, though. I’d be happy to cause grief for England and his whole organization. I despise all that he stands for and I’d hate for him to get in the way of my colonization. I’d hate for him to risk Romano even more.

I’ll keep New Granada, Venezuela, Paraguay, Chile, Banda Oriental, Río de la Plata, and Peru in mind, but I want to discuss it with Southern Italy. If he advises against my participation, then I will not assist your revolution.

My king is planning on signing a treaty with King Louis saying that we will support them if they return Florida and help us retake Menorca and Gibraltar. I’m not sure when negotiations will conclude, perhaps sometime in April, but I’m sure you will hear updates through France.

No matter what, I wish you the best. I hope you defeat England. And when you do, be sure you make it sting.

With Sincerity,

The Spanish Empire

Giddiness exploded in America’s chest. The world was happy to turn on England after their rocky histories together. It was a dream come true! With Spain’s support, there was no way he could lose!

He had to find France and drag him into town for some drinks to celebrate.

*************

It was wrong. England knew it. Everything about it was wrong.

But he couldn’t help it.

It was driving him crazy, thinking about America and France. Every night, he’d wake up abruptly after a nightmare where he saw them together.

The vague, incomplete reports from his spy weren’t enough anymore. He knew it was true, but a small part of him hoped this was all a misunderstanding or misinterpretation on his spy’s part. He had to see it with his own eyes.

He was wrapped tightly in a light coat when he ducked into the tavern that his spy had promised they’d be at. And sure enough, there they were, seated at a table by the fire. France was telling America a story and he was smiling, nodding once in a while to show he was listening.

England slunk over to the bar and ordered a drink so he’d blend in, then he took a seat near the back, watching the two from afar. He was close enough that he could hear their conversation, but with the cloak, his tipped hat, and the shadows, he doubted either would notice him.

“You can’t be serious!” America gasped.

“I am. Once we get you out of Arthur’s hands, you should come to see it.”

He laughed. “I’d love to. But would I be allowed in?”

“Of course! I have access to the palace, don’t I? And you’re my _Lamoureux._ If I say you can come, you can come.”

England spoke a decent amount of French, and considering that _amour_ was the term for love, it wasn’t hard for him to decipher what France had said.

America flushed. “Thank you.”

“Has Can- Pardon, Matthew, conversed with you? Some Canadian forces helped yours with the Siege of Fort Vincennes, oui?” Asked France, catching his mistake when it came to Canada’s name.

“Yes, half of our forces in that battle were sympathetic Canadians. As for Matthew himself, he’s managing while still being separated from me. I’m not going to give up on him, though.”

“Good. He deserves freedom, too.”

So Canada was in on it. England had suspected that he had secretly allowed his brother’s troops to invade, or at least didn’t put up much of a fight, but he wasn’t sure. To think- two of his colonies had become traitors. It was enough to make anyone mad with anger.

“He’ll get it. I’m not abandoning my brother.” America said with finality.

“We are getting closer. We won at Kettle Creek in Georgia.”

“But we lost at Brier Creek, and we had to surrender Charleston, South Carolina to the redcoats. Plus, they keep hitting us around the Chesapeake Bay.”

France shook his head. “It does not matter. We are going to get Antonio on our side, my fleet will launch tomorrow, and then we will knock Arthur into next week.”

A ghost of a smile floated up onto America’s face. “You bet we will.”

France glanced at the window. “It is getting late. We should return to the cabin. Besides, Kaiya and Halona said that they are going to be taking care of last-minute medical emergencies before we leave Middlebrook tomorrow. While they are busy, I would like to spend some time with you.” 

America smirked and tossed some coins on the table to pay for their drinks. He got up, and the couple left quickly. England counted to twenty before he left the tavern and followed them. It was a foggy night, meaning that he had extra coverage for his espionage mission.

The camp and their cabin weren’t far from the tavern and he watched them go inside, slamming the door and locking it behind them.

This was a turning point. England could leave. He could head back out of enemy territory- the heart of enemy territory, no less- with the information he had. After all, he’d confirmed their relationship, right? And to continue observing them now would be another level of prying. It’d be even more wrong.

_I’ll leave,_ he decided while he crept toward the window, _I will. Soon. I’ll go in just a minute._

He peered into the dim cabin through a crack and found the couple. America was leaning against the door while France kissed down his neck, a smile on his face.

France said something that made America laugh while he tugged off his shirt. Then his kisses were all over America’s chest, leaving the occasional pink mark.

It was infuriating. He remembered the days when he was the one that did that, the days when he left his claim all over America. At the time, he was the only one who had ever done that. He was America’s first time, and, oh, that was sweet. He’d been so adorable and nervous, though eager, while England mapped the territory that was newly his. That was undoubtedly one of England’s favorite memories.

Now, here was France, biting him and kissing his lips while America gasped and pleaded for more while taking off France's shirt.

It was simply unimaginable. Impossible. Absurd. If someone had told England that this was what would be happening in just a couple of years, he’d have laughed in their face. America was just so unquestionably _his_ that he’d assume they were lying. Yet, here he was.

France quickly got America’s belt undone and slid his hands down America’s thighs while they stumbled to the bed and fell onto it, each with lustful eyes.

He couldn’t do it anymore. England stepped back from the crack, realizing that he’d been clenching his fists so tightly that small red crescents were cut into his palms. His heart was pounding and his vision was blurred with tears and hatred. France… God, France of all people. America chose that perverted frog over him.

The moral complications and emotional turmoil were too much for him, so he marched off down the dirt path, heading back the way that he had come, his tiny spark of hope stomped out.

*************

America stirred the watery soup in his bowl slowly, staring down at it with vacant eyes.

“Hey, America. How are you doing?” Kaiya asked, coming up to him to pat his back.

“Fine,” He answered simply.

Kaiya sighed and gently took the letter off the table, tucking it into her pocket. “You need to stop rereading that. It’s not good for you.”

“I know.”

She carded her fingers through his hair. “She’s not in pain anymore, ‘Mer. I know it’s hard to think about, but she was very old, and it was time for her to finally get the rest she needed.”

“I know.”

“Is there anything I can do for you?”

He shook his head. “I’m fine.”

France came into the tent and gave America a sympathetic smile. “Hello, _mon coeur._ Thank you, Kaiya.”

Reluctantly, she stepped away from him and headed out of the tent to give the couple some time alone. Halona needed her help to bandage a soldier who fallen down the side of a steep hill during their traveling, anyway.

Tenderly, France kissed America’s forehead. “How are you doing?”

“I’m fine. I just wish I was there for her, you know? I’ve been off fighting one war or another most of her life, and now she’s gone. I didn’t even get to say goodbye.”

“The Jenkinses took good care of Pilgrim.”

“But she was my cat. She was my responsibility. And they were always the ones feeding her and petting her while I was away. And for what? Trips to go to London so that England and I could keep arguing? Battles that make me miserable?”

“Fights for freedom, America. Pilgrim would have understood that.” France assured, kissing his cheek. “She was an elderly cat, _mon cher._ I am sure that she is in a better place.”

America knew that his intentions were good, but after reading the letter written by Amelia Jenkins, he hadn’t been able to scrape together the courage to do anything other than stare down at his dinner and wish that he wasn’t stranded in a tent that smelled like old socks. Pilgrim’s age had taken her in her sleep, and America was heavy with guilt.

“Can I get you anything, _mon canard?_ Water?”

After crying, that sounded very nice. Faintly, he nodded.

“There is a well in town that will have clean water.”

“The camp water is fine.”

“For a grieving person? No. You will have fresh water if it is the last thing I do, _mon amour.”_ He paused. “Poor choice of words. I will be back soon. How about you do something to get your mind off of this while I am gone, hmm?”

America shrugged. “I could make dinner.”

“Perfect! What will you make?”

“Pancakes. They’re fun to make, and they bring my mood up. Plus, syrup reminds me of Canada.”

“Good. I will get syrup while I am in town. You get busy, _oui?”_

He gave a tiny smile. “Yeah.”

*************

Revenge was one of the sweetest treats England had ever tasted, and so when he heard spy reports that France was in a nearby town, wholly alone and unguarded, how could he resist the temptation to send guards after him, equipped with reinforced handcuffs to restrain him?

The sent soldiers reported back soon after, saying that France had been detained and imprisoned in their jail. Those words alone gave England a high he hadn’t felt since the end of the Seven Years War.

Initially, he planned to leave France to rot, but then a guard informed him that France was asking to speak with him. He wouldn’t say what about, but England was fairly sure it was to request food or better accommodations, and how could he pass up an opportunity to make France beg, especially after he swiped America?

When he came into the prison, France was leaning casually against his cell wall, eating an apple and smirking. He was fully relaxed and didn’t seem disturbed by the death glare that England was giving him.

England waved his hand, dismissing the guards.

_“Angleterre,_ good to see you.”

“What do you want?”

“Mostly, to give you an opportunity to free me. We both know that this little cell will not hold me once I decide to leave, but I would rather not destroy it on my way out. It is very nice.”

He rolled his eyes. “Really? You’re here to ask for release?”

“No, not at all, because I am not asking. Do not act like you intend to hold me here. Not only can I escape, but dear little _Amérique_ will be furious at you.”

“He’s already angry. I’m sure he can take it.”

_“Oui,_ but somehow the idea of you keeping his lover away from him feels different. I believe it will be another thing he will add to his list of reasons he hates you. Which he does have, by the way. It is in the top drawer of his nightstand beside a copy of Don Quixote and the oil,” he winked.

England didn’t like that. Not at all. The list? Fine. But France knowing exactly where it was kept and what was inside America’s nightstand? That was a detail he shouldn’t know. He shouldn’t have been close enough to America to gain that knowledge.

“Is that supposed to bother me? If anything, it’s petty.” England fired back.

France shrugged. “I think so, too, but America insists that it gives him more motivation to destroy you or something like that. I only listen to about half the things he says.”

“He won’t like that. If you don’t listen to him, he’ll leave you.”

“You mean like how you didn’t listen to him and he left you?”

“He didn’t…” England scowled. “It’s more complicated than that. We are more complicated. He’s been mine for more than a century, France. This isn’t a good time for us; I won’t lie. But he’ll change his mind eventually, leave you, and come back to me.”

France narrowed his eyes, studying England and arching an eyebrow. “Hmm. Tell me, England, does it bother you that your greatest enemy is fucking your darling colony?”

Those words sent white-hot anger through England’s veins, and he could nearly hear buzzing in his ears at the spike of hatred he felt.

By expression alone, France knew. “Oh, did I strike a nerve? I must say, jealousy is not a good look on you, _mon lapin.”_

England grabbed the bars to the cell, fire in his eyes. “You’re only courting him to anger me and so that you can take his land.”

France scoffed. “You think that low of me? No. I have wanted to fuck his pretty little brains out for a long, long time. And now I get to. He really is a good lover, wouldn’t you say? Very trusting, very eager to please. It must be that unabashed enthusiasm that makes him a better fuck than you. You know, I cannot imagine how you managed to ruin your relationship up to the point it is at considering how loyal he is. Truly, England, it is astounding. ”

“Shut up!”

“Oh, _Angleterre,_ there is no reason to be upset. He is a free-spirited little bird. You had no hope of keeping him caged, so do not beat yourself up about it too badly.”

“I swear to god, France,” He seethed, “If you say _one more word_ about America, I’ll-”

“You’ll what? Kill me? Please, go ahead. Kill one more person our dear America loves. Perhaps you haven’t heard that his cat, Pilgrim, died? _Non?_ But it will be fine. Go on, England, kill me. See what he does.”

“He’s gone. I know I can’t win him back. Keeping you alive won’t change that. But it sure as hell would feel good to kill you.”

France laughed. “You do not actually believe him to be unobtainable or you would not be fighting this war. So I have no concern. Maybe another time, _non?”_

This was the problem with France. Every time England had him in a position where he could end him, he would pull some sort of unforeseen, wily weapon from his pocket, making it impossible for England to finish him off despite France being physically at his mercy. It was infuriating.

“Alright, enough foreplay,” France said. “Unlock the door. If this conversation lasts too much longer, I am afraid you will spontaneously combust. I shall leave so you can stew over our discussion, swear vengeance, and all that. But it is getting late and America is making pancakes for dinner. I love a good pancake. Not as much as I love when his mouth tastes like syrup afterward, but it is a close second.”

It took all England’s strength not to strangle France. There was not much he wanted more than to crush his windpipe and watch the light in his eyes go out, but he whirled around, leaving the prison and telling the guards to release the Frenchman.

Another time. He’d kill him another time.

But first, he had a war to win.

*************

England watched the waves with intense concentration. He squinted at them, daring the sea to produce a Spanish ship.

Spain had declared war on him and immediately laid siege to Gibraltar with the help of France. Gibraltar was greatly distressed by the events if the recent letters England received were any indication of his feelings. A fiercely loyal British subject, Gibraltar was appalled at the notion that Spain may reclaim his land, and England wasn’t about to let someone else (especially Spain) step all over one of his colonies.

These were the thoughts that filled his mind when he watched the ocean. He needed a break from General Howe, and Clinton had suggested that he take a small group of soldiers to monitor New York’s coast, which was just code for taking some time off. The other soldiers weren’t very smart, but even they caught on that this was a short vacation.

There were still a lot of things to be done. He needed to murder France (and now Spain too), possibly level Philadelphia (America’s Congress had returned there), and take down Washington’s army.

Clinton had a lot of ideas for how to do the last one. Most recently, they sent a Major General of theirs, William Tryon, to raid ports in Connecticut. Tyron’s men burned homes, barns, storehouses, churches, municipal buildings, and schools to rattle the patriots, but it turned out not to be very useful. Yes, they killed quite a few Americans, but Washington sent the West Point militias to defend the towns, and people were offended by the unruly warfare on both sides.

The Tuscarora, a tribe of Iroquois natives, had chosen to partially side with the colonists. He still had a significant following in their tribe, but it had gotten smaller as some decided to become patriots with the Americans and the Oneida.

Oh, and the Americans took another fort, too, which was just incredible.

New York’s Delaware Valley was home to a decisive British and Iroquois victory, though, so that was good, and he had soldiers that were prowling everywhere.

Word of a mole had just floated to England’s ears, and he was very interested. Men were on their way to capture their leak and his contact. England could only hope it went well.

*************

River whined at Halona and pressed up against her leg. She rolled her eyes. “I’ll feed you when we get back to the inn, okay? I promise.”

That didn’t satisfy him. Loyal, energetic, persistent River was accompanying her on a mission America and Washington sent her on. It wasn’t a big one; it didn’t even involve any actual espionage. She was just the middleman, relaying information from an undercover patriot operative.

Because he had been needing some exercise and freedom, Halona had happily taken River with her and Eyota to a nearby town where they rented a room at an inn to stay at before the exchange the next morning. It wasn’t a comfortable stay, but it was functional.

They approached the point in the woods where she was supposed to meet this other spy. Or, at least, approximately the location. All the trees looked the same, but a man was waiting for her. He was scrawny and tall, with skinny arms and legs.

“I bought soap,” He said, reciting the secret exchange they were to share to have the conversation. “I hope you didn’t bring butter.”

“If I did, I’ll bring you back a barrel of each.”

At her words, he relaxed. “You’re Hannah, then?”

“Well, that’s not my real name, but yes. I’m assuming Roger isn’t your real name, either.”

“It’s not. It’s actually-”

“Don’t tell me!” She said, holding up a hand to stop him. “Haven’t you ever done this before?”

His cheeks went red. “Not really. I’ve never had to report back. I’ve been in deep cover. You probably can’t tell, but I’m actually really nervous right now.”

“No, I can tell,” She deadpanned.

“Oh. Well, I have a lot to tell you. Do you have supplies to write this down?”

“Of course not. I’ll remember it. I can’t be caught with this stuff on paper. Just tell me.”

He scratched his neck. “Right, that’s a good idea. So, I’ve been working alongside General Henry Clinton most of the time. He recently sent away Lieutenant General Arthur Kirkland to supervise the coast, and I went with him. He’s got plans for taking down the Spanish ships.”

“Like what?”

“Gibraltar is still very loyal to England, so the people are putting in defenses. Uh, let’s see. New colonies are being established in Louisiana. An admiral of theirs is having issues. He’s being charged for misconduct. Oh! Back on the homefront, the English are getting ready for war. Military camps have been established in Kent and Warley Common to prevent a French invasion. An explorer of theirs, James Cook, died recently, so he won’t be claiming any more land near here.”

“That’s great and all, but do you have any information on what the redcoats are planning on doing next?”

“Not really.”

“How? You’ve been living with them!”

“Only for three years.”

She rolled her eyes. “Christ. Fine, fine. How about other spies? How are they all doing?”

“Fine. They’re- oh my god! Spies! I almost forgot! This is the most important piece of information I have!”

Halona starred. “And you chose to save it?”

“I told you, I’ve never reported back before! Anyway, the point is, they have a spy inside the American army.”

“I’m sure they have a few of them.”

“No, no, you don’t understand. The spy, his name is-”

Halona whirled around, alarmed at the sound of a snapping branch. Her contact raised a brow. “What is it?”

“Someone’s here.”

At that moment, the squadron of soldiers rushed out of hiding, drawing guns on the two spies. Halona’s contact was tackled to the ground immediately. He kicked hard, but they kept him restrained.

“We’d ask you to come with us, miss,” said a soldier to Halona.

She scoffed. “As if.”

In a flash, she had her knife drawn and was slamming it into the arm of the soldier that spoke to her. He shrieked and the peace between herself and the redcoats ended. Two tried to grab her, but she was too fast, slashing to keep them at bay. Her eyes scanned the area for an escape route, but she saw none.

A loud bark came from behind her, and she barely had time to think before River was running back out of the woods, teeth bared and snarling at the soldiers attacking Halona. He growled and bit one’s leg, ripping through the man’s flesh and dragging him to the ground while shaking his head.

River gave her the opening she needed to sock the other soldier in the jaw. He glared at her and seized her wrists, wrestling with her. Her contact had the upper hand in his fight against two soldiers, and Halona thought they were going to win before three more came into the clearing.

“Sorry we were late, Johnny wanted to stop for-” The leader began. Then he realized what was happening and drew his pistol. “Freeze!”

Halona and her contact did nothing of the sort. They continued to struggle as the three newcomers joined the fray. The mole went down first after they got him into a headlock and she wasn’t able to resist anymore once one of them got a good hit on her head.

The only one left was River, planted between Halona and the soldiers. He growled ferociously and barked at two soldiers that advanced on him. His whole body was bristled and ready to fight. He bared his canines and dragged his ears back, practically foaming at the mouth as he roared threateningly.

A redheaded soldier drew his foot back and kicked River’s ribs. He yelped but held his ground, digging his feet in and refusing to allow them to get any closer to Halona. Each furious bark was so loud that Halona thought her head might split- or maybe that was just from the blow she took earlier. Either way, things were hazy as she watched the soldiers back off.

“It’s a damn animal!” She heard their leader say. “Just fucking kill it!”

Her heart pumped faster. “No…” She groaned weakly, but it was too quiet for them to hear.

“That thing’s a monster! We can’t get close to it!” A soldier protested.

“You have pistols, don’t you? Fucking shoot it!”

She wanted to stop them, to defend River, but her vision swam, and she felt like she was back in the woods outside Boston, watching redcoats drag Kaiya away.

A gunshot ripped through the world, followed by River’s howl and a pained yip. Halona pried her eyes open and feebly tried to crawl toward River, who was sprawled on the bloody grass.

She was too slow.

River, powerless, lifted his head to look at the British soldier in front of him. The soldier leveled his pistol to point it right between his eyes.

Halona barely gasped out, “Wait!”

The sky split at the sound of the second gunshot.


	41. The Deane Papers

“The history of the present King of Great Britain is a history of repeated injuries… all having in direct object the establishment fan absolute tyranny over these states.” -Thomas Jefferson, the Declaration of Independence

The rope around Halona’s wrists was beginning to hurt. After being captured by British soldiers, she had been dragged back to the camp and tied tightly to a wooden pole that served as support for a cloth roof, sheltering the men from the sun.

Camp moved frequently for them, and this time, they were near the shoreline. She could hear the waves in their constant, rhythmic sweeping behind her, though she couldn’t see them, and seagulls cawed overhead.

Men milled around, talking, laughing, showing off to one another, and giving her the occasional rude gesture. It didn’t bother her, though. Even in the swamp of redcoats and enemies, she was unafraid and refused to cry. She would mourn River, but not yet.

An hour or two passed before a man approached her. He had the buttons and insignias of a colonel, and he walked with an air of superiority like he was better than everyone else. Already, she didn’t like him.

“So- you’re a spy?” He asked. His voice was snooty and his accent strong as he looked at her with disdain. “I see the Yanks have lowered their standards.”

“It appears the British have done the same,” she said back.

He narrowed his eyes and gestured to a soldier that slapped her across the face. “Watch your mouth, bitch.”

She smiled back, the sting in her cheek hardly noticeable. “My bad. It appears the lobsterbacks have done the same.”

The soldier hit her again, this time with a fist. She scowled, spitting out some blood and glaring at the colonel.

“Let’s skip the small talk, shall we? Who sent you?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

He sighed in annoyance. “I haven’t got all day. Who sent you?”

Stubbornly, she set her jaw, eyes making it clear that she wasn’t going to answer the question.

“Fine. We’ll come back to that. What information were you given?” More silence. The colonel gestured to the soldier, who struck her again. “How often do you deliver messages?”

“Whenever I get a break between interrogations. You know how it is.”

He rolled his eyes. “How much have you told your patron about my soldiers and their training?”

“No need to worry, Colonel. The patriots are already fully aware of how incompetent your men are.”

Another hit, this one in her stomach, and much harder. Halona coughed, the air was knocked from her body, but her brave face didn’t falter.

“Alright, how much have you told your patron or patrons about our troop movements?”

“You mean the fact that you’re chasing your tails and running around like chickens with their heads cut off? Plenty. We had a good laugh about it.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“And you’re a dick, so I guess you could say we’re even.”

The colonel nodded to his soldier, who took out a knife and made a cut along her jaw bone. She hissed in pain, instinctually jerking away from the blade, but the ropes wrapped around her hands and torso held her in place.

“Now are you going to talk?”

She looked up meekly. “What do you want to know?”

He crossed his arms smugly. “How are you getting your information? Are you courting someone here to get close to them?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Who?”

“Your mother.”

Instantly, his scowl was back. “Cut her again.”

The soldier doing his dirty work slashed across her upper arm, ripping her dress’s sleeve and her skin. She gasped as blood started soaking the surrounding fabric.

“How are you getting your information?” The colonel repeated.

“Witchcraft.”

Once again, the soldier’s weapon cut her, this time on the cheek. It left a diagonal wound that dripped down her face and onto the collar of her dress.

“I’m almost out of patience,” the colonel stated. “Start talking now, or I’ll stop playing nice. You’re going to die either way. You might as well make this easy on yourself and tell me what I want to know.”

She chuckled weakly. “Aww, Colonel, you sure know how to make a girl all hot and bothered. Do you talk to your wife like that?”

The colonel decided to take matters into his own hands, punching her in the gut as hard as he could. She cried out, doubling over partially. The ropes kept her from bending all the way and they cut into her skin, pricking at her injuries like needles.

“Let me make this very clear. You’re going to tell me exactly what I want to know, or I’ll take you apart.”

Halona straightened, still not able to breathe correctly, but snarling, “Yeah? Fuck you.”

He slammed his knee into the same place his fist had been moments before, and she yelped again. “Who the hell sent you?”

“A talking goat.”

Now it was his elbow that hit her, knocking her head to the side and making her vision blur for a moment. The taste of blood filled her mouth as she accidentally clamped down on her tongue. “Who sent you?”

“Bite me.”

He took the knife from his soldier and slashed it across her thigh. Her knees gave out and the only things that kept her up were the ropes. “Who are you?”

“I s- said… bite me.”

He pressed his boot into the gash on her thigh, causing her to shout in pain and thrash against the bindings.

“What did that traitor tell you?”

She didn’t answer and he shifted more of his weight against her bleeding wound, repeating the question.

Telling him everything started sounding more appealing. It’d make the pain stop. It would end the interrogation. It would put a stop to it all.

But then, she imagined Kaiya’s smile, her soft hazel eyes, and heard her laugh. She thought about the possibility of her being executed as a traitor alongside the revolutionary figures she looked up to if they lost the war. And then she knew that she could never say a word. There was no way she’d let the British win- not with Kaiya on the line.

_“Fuck. You.”_

The colonel grabbed her by the collar and slammed her head into the pole. She squeezed her eyes shut, gasping. He drew back his fist, ready to land a punch to her jaw that would surely break it when someone’s hand caught his wrist, stopping him.

Slowly, Halona pried open her eyes.

England was glaring at his subordinate and clenching his jaw so tightly she could see the tendons twitching. “Colonel.”

He lowered his fist, confused. “Lieutenant General Kirkland?”

“Didn’t I tell you that any of the captured matching this woman’s description were to be seen by me before any kind of violent interrogation began?”

“I… Well, yes, sir, but-”

“And you directly disobeyed my orders.”

“I was told that you were occupied, sir. I didn’t want to bother you or-”

“Let her go.”

The fist that had bunched her collar up drew back, releasing her. She was able to get her weight onto her good leg and lean against the pole she was tied to. Her gaze flickered between the two men in red, waiting for something to happen.

England waved his hand, dismissing the colonel, who retreated, though not before giving Halona a hateful glare. The moment he and his minion were gone, England sighed, untying the ropes. He wrapped an arm around Halona and helped her sit down.

“I’m sorry, Halona. He wasn’t supposed to do this. I swear it didn’t happen on my orders. Here.” He called out to a soldier a ways away, who hurried over and saluted.

“Sir?”

“Go get me a medic’s kit, some water, and a cloth.”

“Yes, sir.” He scampered off and returned within moments, carrying a box full of medical supplies and a bucket before being dismissed.

England dipped a cloth from the box into the water and began to wash out the cut on Halona’s cheek.

She smacked his hand away. “I can do it myself.”

“I know, but I want to help you. War or no war, you’re like a sister to me.” He began cleaning again, this time without Halona resisting.

“There’s no point,” Halona said, “It’s not like I’m _not_ going to get executed.”

“Actually, it is like that.”

She furrowed her brow. “What do you mean?”

England sighed, rinsing the cloth, wringing it out, and going back to his task. “I’m not going to let you get hanged, Halona. Despite what you and America think of me, I’m not a monster, and I care about you both. As soon as you feel up to it, you can leave.”

She stared at him. “But what about your generals? Won’t they want me dead?”

“The generals and I have a few agreements, most of them concerning either you, Kaiya, or America. Besides, they’re not here. So, no. I have the power to release you.”

She frowned. “I don’t think you understand. I’ll come back. I’m not going to stop spying if you free me.”

“I know.”

“But then I’ll tell America and Washington everything I find out.”

“I know.”

“But that will be bad for you.”

He rolled his eyes. “Yes, Halona, _I know._ But what else would you expect me to do? Kill you? Because if you honestly believe that I want to hurt you, you’re an idiot.”

“That doesn’t make sense. If you don’t kill me, I can spy as much as I want without consequence.”

“Well, if you get caught again, you’ll be kept here. Treated well, of course. But you wouldn’t be able to leave. So, I’d tell you to stop, but I know that won’t work. So do me a favor and be a bit better at your job.”

Halona blinked. None of this had gone the way she expected. “Oh.”

“If you don’t want to tell me, fine, but I’d like to know… How are America and Kaiya?”

She hesitated but decided it wasn’t a dangerous question. “America is alright. He and France are getting along well. And Kaiya is well, too. She’s upset that this has happened, of course. She talks about how much she misses you. But she’s managing.”

“She misses me?”

Halona’s gaze softened a bit. “We both do, England. Neither of us likes what this has come to. Hell, even America misses you. He used to cry about it nearly daily.”

That should have made England sad, but somehow, it comforted him. “Daily?”

She laughed, but it had a heavy bitterness to it. “He adored you for centuries, England. You were the love of his life. You were to him what Kaiya is to me. After battles, in the beginning, he’d come to Kaiya and me. He’d cry for hours. But you have to understand that it doesn't matter. The way you’ve treated him has estranged him from you so much that even though it’s killing him, he’s fighting for his independence.”

“I didn’t mean to.”

“I know. But you did. I guess what I’m trying to say is that we still love you. But that’s just not enough anymore.”

England nodded somberly. They were quiet as he bandaged her shoulder until he said, “I can’t fix your thigh. We need to go to the medical tent. Come on.”

*************

Addison squinted up at the sun. It was merciless, blazing down on the crew of the USS _Bonhomme Richard_ with god-like intensity. Sweat soaked the underarms of his shirt, and he could see pink tints on the skin of the crewmembers who had a less tanned complexion than he.

Commodore John Paul Jones was nowhere to be seen, but that was more than okay with Addison. He was beyond sick and tired of the man. Everything America had said was true- he was a great leader, fearless, and headstrong. But he was also an ass.

It wasn’t until after he boarded that he learned the true extent of Jones’ wrongdoings. Apparently, before becoming a member of the American Navy (he was born Scottish), he had killed a subordinate because the man wanted higher wages.

Another crew member that didn’t agree with his wages was ruthlessly flogged in a way that witnesses had said was “unnecessarily cruel.” Not long after, the punished man died from the whipping he received.

His personality gave Addison no doubt. At first, he had seen what most people saw: a suave, brave, determined commodore. But once he worked with Jones, he quickly realized his faults. He was short-tempered, strict, argumentative, selfish, and ruthless.

Addison hated him, and the hot summer sun that made everyone’s angry emotions more intense didn’t help.

Maybe, if Addison were lucky, he’d die of scurvy before he had to speak to Jones ever again.

*************

America knocked on the door to Benedict Arnold’s house three times and waited patiently. After asking a million times, Washington had finally consented to let him go to Philadelphia for Silas Deane, who was staying with General Arnold. America suspected that it had something to do with Halona staggering back to the camp, informing them that there was some kind of traitor in their midst but that her contact had been taken away and hung before she got his name. Washington worried that America would end up getting chopped to tiny bits in his sleep at camp, so he allowed him to leave. Mount Pleasant, the name of the mansion that Benedict Arnold owned, was safer.

Whatever the reason was, America was there, and he was fully ready to stick up for his friend. While he was at it, he intended to lecture Congress about not funding the army well enough.

The door opened up, and the general stood there, nonchalant. “America, welcome. Come inside.”

He smiled and took his trunks inside. “Hello, General. How are you?”

“Fine, thank you.”

“Your home is beautiful.”

It was an understatement. The mansion had many windows, bricks that made designs around the frame of the white house, columns framing the door, steps and a path lined with sturdy trees leading up to the said door, two end pavilions, and two large chimneys. Inside, elegant trim ran along with the windows and door frames, a staircase with a curved banister led people upstairs, tasteful furniture was placed around the room, rugs sprawled across the floor, bookcases were stacked on top of one another, and fireplaces were in place throughout to heat the mansion in the winter.

“I purchased it after marrying my wife, Peggy,” He explained. “She’s around here somewhere. Silas is in his room. You’ll share with him if that’s alright with you.”

“That’s fine.”

“Good. I’ll show you the way.” He walked in front of America to take him to a bedroom. Arnold rapped on the door and called, “Silas?”

“Yes?”

The general turned the knob and waved America in. “I’ll leave you to it.”

America shuffled in. The door shut the moment he was inside, and he heard Arnold’s footsteps leaving. He didn’t have long to think on it before Silas was hugging him, though.

“America! I’ve missed you so much!”

He chuckled and hugged Silas back. “I’ve missed you, too. How are you doing?”

Silas withdrew. “Congress just keeps pressing in on me. John Jay is defending me, which is helpful since he’s the current president of Congress, but most are against me.”

“Who else is on your side?”

“Dr. Franklin, but he’s in Paris. Robert Morris. General Arnold, of course, but he’s facing scrutiny right now, too.”

“Robert Morris is important, and he’s influential when it comes to finances. He can’t clear you of embezzlement?”

Silas shook his head. “Not without my financial records, but they’re all the way in Paris.”

“So I heard.”

“It’s not fair! I just got a letter from James Lovell one day that asked me to come home and brief Congress on European relations. I expected to be back in just a couple of months, so I left everything important there. I didn’t think I’d need it. And now they won’t let me get them.”

“Alright, let’s back up. I haven’t been to Congress since I joined Washington’s army. Just explain the whole situation, starting with what Congress is like right now.”

He sighed in frustration, though it wasn’t directed at America. “Well, you know how divided it gets. Right now, they’re split over me. Arthur Lee, the envoy that accused me of all this stuff, has brothers in high places. William Lee is a commercial agent for Congress. His other two brothers, Francis Lightfoot Lee and Richard Henry Lee, are spearheading the attacks against me because they always take Arthur’s side. They’ve been slamming me over the false accusations for a year and some change. I got fed up with it and I published this document defending myself, but it went badly. I was too emotional. Even my friends agreed it was a bad decision, but I can’t take it back now.”

“What did it say?”

Silas’s face fell even lower. He opened up the trunk at the foot of his bed and pulled out a pile of papers. “Here.”

America read the very beginning. “Ah, you addressed it to the people. That’s a good way to start.”

“Just wait- it gets worse.”

America scanned the page and raised a brow. “‘Unfortunately for you, those gentlemen so highly elevated, and so widely entrusted, gave universal disgust to the nation whose assistance we solicited… to Doctor Franklin and myself, and joined to his undisguised hatred of, and expressions of contempt for, the French nation in general, embarrassed us exceedingly, and was of no small prejudice to your affairs.’ Damn, Silas.” He flipped the page. “Let’s see- ‘I confess I was surprised, considering what I have already related, that this man should have the audacity to appear in the capital of America.’ Holy shit. You went off.”

He slumped down on the bed and put his head in his hands. “I know. It’s bad, I know, trust me, I know.”

“You’re repeating yourself.”

“I know!”

America sighed and set the papers down, sitting beside Silas to pat his shoulder. “It could be worse. You could have said he was a bastard with a streak of jealousy so strong that it’ll suffocate you if you’re in a room with him for too long. Because that’s certainly true, too.”

“Congress won’t even properly pay me,” Silas bemoaned. “How am I supposed to take care of my son?”

“Your wife could try to do some smaller jobs that a woman would be allowed to do.”

Silas looked at him with a betrayed expression. “That wasn’t funny, America.”

“What?” He asked, suddenly confused.

“Joking about my wife. I miss Elizabeth every single day.”

“Wait, wait, I’m lost. Did something happen?”

“I thought I told you in a letter.”

America shook his head. “I honestly have no idea what you’re talking about. Did you divorce?”

“No, America, she died while I was in Paris.”

His eyes went wide. “What? Oh my god, I had no idea. I mean, I knew your first wife, Mehitabel, died, but… I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”

“It was two years ago. I’ve had time to heal. I don’t want to talk about it. Let’s just get back to the matter at hand. I’ve been trying to convince Congress to let me go back to France to get my papers and so that I can collect some money from my investments- since they won’t pay me- but they think I’m going to run away once I get there.”

“What do you want me to do in Congress?”

“Just vouch for my honesty. All I need is to get my records and I’ll be able to _prove_ that I am innocent.”

America smiled and clapped him on the back. “Well, I can do that.”

*************

“We will start with the briefing on recent events,” John Jay, President of the Continental Congress, announced to the delegates that were stuffed inside the Pennsylvania State House. America was squished between Samuel Adams and Elbridge Gerry, both his fellow Bay Staters. Samuel Holten, James Lovell, and a delegate named George Partridge were behind him. That made five Congressmen plus a personification, a smaller number of representatives than had been in Congress for them before. Not that he could complain. Georgia had only one Congressman next to Virginia and Pennsylvania’s nine. And Silas? He was stuck in the middle of a swarm of coworkers who hated him.

“Major General John Sullivan has had success in raiding Iroquois villages in response to the brutal massacres against our people,” Jay announced. “We have launched more ships from Boston for naval combat with our foes. The force consists of nineteen warships and twenty-five support ships. They have 1,000 marines with them and a 100-man artillery detachment under the supervision of Lieutenant Colonel Paul Revere.”

Images of a grinning, dark-haired young man perched on a horse flashed through America’s mind. He leaned over to whisper to Samuel Adams. “Since when was Paul Revere a Lieutenant Colonel?”

“Since November three years ago.”

“Huh. I didn’t know that. Good for him. He seems like he’d be good at it.”

“I sure hope so. We spent a ton of money on that fleet of ships.”

“Spanish and French forces are continuing to siege Gibraltar,” Jay continued. “And you all know why we’re here today, so I’m skipping the recap. Today’s agenda begins with our personification, who will be addressing the recent controversy surrounding Congressman Silas Deane from Connecticut and the Continental Army. After that, we will continue discussions on governmental setup. Mr. America, you may now speak, sir.”

America stood up without hesitation and stepped away from his chair. Samuel grabbed his sleeve. “You forgot your notecards.”

He waved him off. “I don’t need them.”

Samuel shrugged and released him.

America went to the center of the room and stared out at the congregation. “Gentlemen. I have been away for a considerable time, serving with our Commander-In-Chief, General George Washington, so I may not be fully versed in the goings-on of this legislation. I am, however, well acquainted with Connecticut’s representative, Silas Deane. I’ve known him for many years, and I can say with confidence that he is one of the best men I know. He believes in our cause with all of his heart and would gladly give his life for it, just like you. He is well-intentioned, kind-hearted, and most of all, loyal to his country. He would never betray me.

“You all claim to speak for me here day after day. You say, ‘on behalf of the United States of America, we cannot allow him to leave,’ and ‘America wouldn’t approve of his departure,’ and ‘America would never let a suspected man run free.’ But you cannot begin to think for me. I would never keep Silas from journeying to Paris to collect the evidence he needs to prove his innocence. I trust him. Besides, to halt evidence is to obstruct justice. Is this not to be a land of equal opportunity? Do we not strive for a fair legal system? Because I would hardly call this fair.”

A delegate from South Carolina that America didn’t recognize spoke up. “He’ll run off! He’ll scamper back to London like the traitor he is!”

“He is no traitor!” America snapped. “What is your name?”

“Henry Laurens. I mean no offense when I say this, but he is a scoundrel! How do you know that he is not the rat that our spy reported?”

“Because, Mr. Laurens, Silas is trustworthy.”

“So you don’t think he stole from us?”

“You misunderstand me, Congressman. I am here to vouch for his character. I am promising that he will not flee once he reaches Paris. While I am sure of his innocence, I am not here to tell you that he is not an embezzler. I am merely here to convince you to let him prove that for himself.”

Congressman exchanged looks back and forth. Things seemed most unsettled in Maryland, where delegates were divided. Silas Deane’s case tended to be a division between the north and the south, so Maryland, which was right on the border, was a split state.

Issues between the northern states (New York, New Hampshire, Massachusetts, Connecticut, Rhode Island, Pennsylvania, and New Jersey) and the southern states (North Carolina, South Carolina, and Virginia) were not limited to just Silas Deane. Slavery was a hot topic, too. Personally, America didn’t like slavery. He found it wrong and wanted to abolish it, but to do so would be impossible. The task was too daunting and controversial, plus slaves were such a central part of the southern economy that to take them away would cause it to crash and estrange them (and weren’t they the _United_ States of America?), so there wasn’t much he could do. He could only hope that a stronger generation would be able to lift the yoke of slavery off of the black people living in his nation one day.

A year ago, Thomas Jefferson had tried to end the importation of enslaved Africans, which was ironic because of the plantation and slaves he owned. He wasn’t the only patriot who spoke of freedom while owning slaves, either. Benjamin Franklin, George Washington, John Hancock, Patrick Henry, John Jay, James Madison, and many more did so. Hell, even Silas owned slaves, though he treated them well.

America had found that the only thing harder than standing up to his enemies was standing up to his friends. Some of them refused to own slaves, though- Samuel Adams, John Adams, Robert Treat Paine, Elbridge Gerry, and Thomas Paine, for example.

“Mr. America,” said Jay, interrupting his thoughts. “You said that you want to discuss the Continental Army as well, did you not?”

“Right, yes, thank you. Our military is a mess. It needs more funding. We barely make it through each winter, and we’re falling apart. Let me tell you about our season at Valley Forge. Frostbite was the norm. Losing fingers and toes was expected, and we were all starving. The animals we ate were our horses and dogs. I had never seen Washington so depressed, haunted by the faces of the pale, freezing men plagued with dysentery, smallpox, pneumonia, and most of all, hopelessness. Soldiers died in their beds and on marches. We lost twelve per day and had nowhere to put their bodies. I watched brave, brilliant men wither under the weight of it all, and with the ground frozen over, we couldn’t keep up with burying them. Our cabins felt like living tombs, and most of us didn’t even have blankets or shoes. The snow was bloody, fires that burned 24/7 couldn’t keep us warm, and we ate snow for hydration when we had to. Desertion happened daily, and honestly, I couldn’t even blame those men for turning their backs on me based on the conditions they lived in.

“The army needs better funding. Even the heartiest of patriots begin to lose hope when winter hits. We have to have supplies and, more than that, hope. Each letter exchanged between Washington’s staff and you made us more distraught. You are our government. It is the government’s job to take care of its people, so I beg of you, after I return to Washington’s side, don’t forget what I have said. Stop wasting time debating whether or not to send Silas to France and start doing your jobs. Thank you.”

America’s heart was pounding with passion as he marched back to his seat and sat down. Around the hall, Congressmen exchange glances. Some were irritated, some guilty, and others were just confused. God, Congress was a joke.

Samuel Adams looked proud of him, though, and patted him on the shoulder subtly, whispering, “You tell ‘em, America.”

America chose not to point out that Samuel was a part of Congress, too.


End file.
